One sweet thought after another

I grew up on bakery goods. I'm not talking those airy donuts and brick hard ones that two companies offered free on donut day. There used to be German bakeries all over town where you could get your fill of pastries, donuts, cream puffs and especially coffee cakes. They were baked in jelly roll pans, so they didn't rise more than an inch or two and they were sliced and sold in 4"x8" sections, wrapped in white paper and tied with a string. They were slathered with fruit pie fillings, or my favorite, crumbs, big sweet crumbly, melt-in-your-mouth buttery sugary crumbs. Bill's favorite and a close second for me was peanut cake, smeared with thick white icing and topped with red skinned peanuts. Cheesecake filling was another favorite.

One year we went to Boston to visit friends. We ended up in the North End, Little Italy. We ate a delicious meal and then went with our friends to a coffee house where I ordered a fruit pastry and Bill ordered what he thought was a cream horn made of phyllo dough stuffed with sweet cream and powdered sugar. When he bit into that ricotta cheese-filled cannoli, I thought he was going to throw up. Proof that looks can be deceiving. Italian pastries are bit different from German pastries.

One look at me, however, and you can see evidence of years of coffee cakes and cream puffs. My maternal grandmother was German, my maternal grandfather was Italian. If you grew up in North St. Louis, Koobs and Knoodles Bakeries were catch phrases for "day olds" and delectable sweets.

Now for a tell all: when Bill was called Billy, he took his church offering, skipped down the alley and knelt at Koob's altar of sugar and lard.

Today he took off on his three mile hike at 6:00 a.m. I walked the opposite direction and met him half way. He said, "Hi babe, what do you want for breakfast?"

"Crumb cake, peanut rolls, cheese Danish."

I ate a bowl of whole grain cereal with almonds and fresh strawberries.