tiltjlp
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Growing up in the 1950's in Cincinnati’s Fairmount neighborhood provided me with endless memories. Possibly the sweetest of those images are the aromas of Mouck’s Bakery, only a half-block away from our house. Many a morning would begin with me going to Mouck’s for a loaf of fresh bread, and maybe a cherry stollen for our family’s breakfast. A stollen is a ring pastry, filled with chopped nuts and sweetened cherries, topped with sugary icing.
Mouck’s Bakery started out with a different name, Poopky’s, which they pronounced Pop-Key. But when they heard some people calling it Poop-Key, they changed it to Mouck, which was Mrs. Poopky’s maiden name. I once asked why they didn’t just changed the way they spelled their name, but they said people would still use the wrong version. By either name, that family of bakers were some of the nicest and friendliest folks I have ever known. Even now, I can remember the flavor of their thumbprint cookies.
Mouck’s thumbprint cookies were sweet and crumbly, topped with colored icing in a small recess that was made with a thumb. Or maybe they would add a gumdrop or a bit of chocolate to the top of the cookie. This was the cookie that the Bakery Lady always to give to us kids whenever she saw us rough housing or having foot races pass the bakery. In exchange for a cookie, she asked us to play somewhere else, so not to disturb her customers.
The bakery lady, which is what all of us called her, was like an extra grandmother, complete with wire-rim glasses and her grey hair covered by a net. I always enjoyed visiting the bakery for our loaves of bread. What I liked best was watching her put the bread through the slicing machine. In those days, they stuck a paper label of some sort on each loaf. I imagined it was good luck if that label survived the slicer in one piece. I amused my parents by laying claim to the heel with that paper label.
Whenever we had company over for Sunday visits, I would be sent to Mouck’s Bakery for something special; custard filled eclairs, an apple-butterscotch pie, or maybe a devils food cake with white frosting. My favorite, which I would buy with money I earned by doing errands, was a devils food brownie with sour cream icing. On Fridays, Mouck’s baked hundreds of loaves of dark rye bread, which St. Leo’s used for its fried fish sandwiches.
I tried to stay near the fried fish booth when they were starting to close up, so that I could get all the heels of rye bread that were left over. For some reason, the heels were never used for a fish sandwich, and they would give them to us kids, rather than throwing them away. I would eat them either with sliced onions, or with peanut butter and sliced apples.
Maybe the best item in any bakery is their cheese cake, which is nothing like those you can get frozen at the grocery store. The cheese cake I grew fond of as a boy was dense and chewy, dusted with cinnamon, and so sweet with cheese and eggs that one slice never was enough. With fewer bakeries around, it is hard to find those wonderful tastes of bygone days, but they will live on, in the taste buds of my memory.
Mouck’s Bakery started out with a different name, Poopky’s, which they pronounced Pop-Key. But when they heard some people calling it Poop-Key, they changed it to Mouck, which was Mrs. Poopky’s maiden name. I once asked why they didn’t just changed the way they spelled their name, but they said people would still use the wrong version. By either name, that family of bakers were some of the nicest and friendliest folks I have ever known. Even now, I can remember the flavor of their thumbprint cookies.
Mouck’s thumbprint cookies were sweet and crumbly, topped with colored icing in a small recess that was made with a thumb. Or maybe they would add a gumdrop or a bit of chocolate to the top of the cookie. This was the cookie that the Bakery Lady always to give to us kids whenever she saw us rough housing or having foot races pass the bakery. In exchange for a cookie, she asked us to play somewhere else, so not to disturb her customers.
The bakery lady, which is what all of us called her, was like an extra grandmother, complete with wire-rim glasses and her grey hair covered by a net. I always enjoyed visiting the bakery for our loaves of bread. What I liked best was watching her put the bread through the slicing machine. In those days, they stuck a paper label of some sort on each loaf. I imagined it was good luck if that label survived the slicer in one piece. I amused my parents by laying claim to the heel with that paper label.
Whenever we had company over for Sunday visits, I would be sent to Mouck’s Bakery for something special; custard filled eclairs, an apple-butterscotch pie, or maybe a devils food cake with white frosting. My favorite, which I would buy with money I earned by doing errands, was a devils food brownie with sour cream icing. On Fridays, Mouck’s baked hundreds of loaves of dark rye bread, which St. Leo’s used for its fried fish sandwiches.
I tried to stay near the fried fish booth when they were starting to close up, so that I could get all the heels of rye bread that were left over. For some reason, the heels were never used for a fish sandwich, and they would give them to us kids, rather than throwing them away. I would eat them either with sliced onions, or with peanut butter and sliced apples.
Maybe the best item in any bakery is their cheese cake, which is nothing like those you can get frozen at the grocery store. The cheese cake I grew fond of as a boy was dense and chewy, dusted with cinnamon, and so sweet with cheese and eggs that one slice never was enough. With fewer bakeries around, it is hard to find those wonderful tastes of bygone days, but they will live on, in the taste buds of my memory.