We were living in our first little house. It was probably the first year of our marriage. Our kitchen was ridiculously tiny. My total counter space was 12-inches by 13-inches. That made not only cooking and baking things hard (the prep part), it also meant we had limited space to put things. So, our loaves of bread were stored on top of the refrigerator - right next to the cereal, of course.
I was in the kitchen doing dishes, or something equally exciting, when I heard the crinkle of a cello bag. The hubs was going in. He reached around me to grab a clean plate, then plopped a couple of slices from the bag onto it. Thirty seconds later I hear sounds of protest. This isn't chocolate. I thought it was chocolate!
Nope. It was Rye-Pump Swirl.
