A Place For Random Memories

Found this under Connecticut hard roll.....
A Connecticut hard roll is a traditional type of roll with a chewy crust and a light, airy interior, similar to a Kaiser roll, often used for breakfast sandwiches like the popular pepper, egg, and cheese sandwich. While the term "hard roll" is common in the Northeast, particularly in areas like New York, Connecticut, and Pennsylvania, it's important to note that the specific texture can vary depending on the bakery.

From Reddit....
I used to run a group of restaurants that offered various sandwiches on “hard rolls”, and sourcing them outside of New Haven and Fairfield counties was a nightmare.

My research led me to understand that hard rolls originated in New Haven county at the local Italian and Portuguese bakeries. They’re distinguished by the twisted, star-shaped scoring on top and a sprinkle of poppy seeds.


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Thanks RR. We had them on Long Island. Imported? No. They were too fresh.
 

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The drink bottles (not pictured) were lined up in rows. Put the money in, then the machine would let you slide one out by hand. I believe these were called slider boxes.
I used to see those once in awhile as a kid. They were great because you could pop off the bottle cap and drink the soda with a straw for free! That's probably whey they stopped using that style of dispenser...:cool:
 
Some smells or aromas will evoke a memory from me among other things.

Whenever I smell a certain pleasant smell I think of my grandparents house from long ago. It's a warm, cozy feeling I get. Makes me long for some of Grandma's crepes or noodles and cabbage!
I was 8. It was 1967. The aroma of stuffed cabbage (halupki) and kielbasa and perogies would permeate my Grandmother's kitchen. Whatever she put in the broth to boil the cabbage, I will never know....but I can still smell its wonder 58 years later. I am 66. On Friday nights my parents would drop me off at "Grammy and TaTa's" house. They would come get me at around noon on Saturday, since neither of my Grandparents ever learned to drive. Back then, they didn't have to . The city they lived in had busses, trolleys, trains galore. My Eastern European grandad bought his house with money saved under the mattress; he would never trust banks.

I would arrive armed with my portable record player; it folded up like a suitcase, remember those? We would play 78s that they had -- all kinds of wonderful lost songs from the 1930s and 1940s. My Grandad, a Giants fan before they left for California, would be drinking a Rheingold beer, or two, or three, and watching this new team called the Mets. My Grandma would be singing some ancient song in the kitchen...its strings still reverberate in my heart. The tomatoes were fresh from the garden. The bread? baked from scratch in the oven hours before. When doused in garlic, it became the nectar of the Gods.

If the phone rang, My Grandma would always know who it was "based on the ring."

One hot, sultry Friday night in the hot, sticky summer of 1967 it was Aunt Janie; her son, my much older cousin, was killed in Vietnam.

It was 1967. Times were changin. We all cried that night. It was heartfelt. My Grandma said, "Now, you, Philip, you do not go off to war when you grow up. Say NO."


I felt as if I were in a comfortable cocoon. I was somehow protected.

To this day, if I smell cabbage boiled just the right way, with proper ingredients, I enter a time machine and I am transformed back to a place I can only call heaven. I have been searching for heaven ever since.
 
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Camping in the Sierra Nevada mountains. Looking under rocks. Turn one over there is a snake that doesn't have a head. It is a Rubber Boa. I was studying reptiles because a neighbor friend had an outdoor terrarium. It had all kinds of reptiles, and totally different terrains for the different species.

He will be very happy when I tell him. :)

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I remember back in the 70's we had so many home delivery services. We had the Culligan man, the Fuller Brush man, the Omar man (I think that was a local bakery service), Stanley Home Products, Watkins had door to door salesman, you had the Avon lady (do they still make house calls?), and our Prudential Insurance man used to come periodically to collect his premiums. A lot of women back in the 50's and early 60's did not work out of the home so there was someone at home to greet these salesmen (or women if it was Avon). As kind of a comical side note, way before my time, I was told one of my crazy great uncles used to go to door selling womens underware. lol!!! Can you imagine?
 
I remember back in the 70's we had so many home delivery services. We had the Culligan man, the Fuller Brush man, the Omar man (I think that was a local bakery service), Stanley Home Products, Watkins had door to door salesman, you had the Avon lady (do they still make house calls?), and our Prudential Insurance man used to come periodically to collect his premiums. A lot of women back in the 50's and early 60's did not work out of the home so there was someone at home to greet these salesmen (or women if it was Avon). As kind of a comical side note, way before my time, I was told one of my crazy great uncles used to go to door selling womens underware. lol!!! Can you imagine?
Avon still make home visits here..or at least they did up until last year when they last left a catalogue here and an order form ... and I just left it back out for her to collect...unordered..

I remember we used to have all sorts of deliveries here as well.

WE had a grocery mobile shop .. where there was enough space to step insde for about 3 people and there was a little counter in there.. and that came twice a week ..
This wasn't it, but it was similar to this...
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then there was the bakers van, the butchers' van... the Fizzy Pop ( soda) van... the paper girl or boy, The milkman ( the latter still comes to some houses )... The coalman

I married the butcher boy.. :D
 
A couple of home delivery post made me remember something.

When in middle school I had to walk up the road to an intersection to catch the school bus, the intersection is also where the milk man would place a delivery for one of the neighbors. It became a habit of mine to pilfer a bottle of milk and guzzel it down, then throw the empty bottle off into the woods, my adolescent mind thought I was smart by hiding the evidence.

Of course I got caught, neighbor told my dad and surprisingly my dad didn't lose it on me, he simply told me I needed to make it right. That restitution turned into several years of servitude, when that neighbor needed something done I was his guy, he would pull in our dive and beep his horn and I had no choice but to go help.

Turned out OK though, he became one of the old timers I grew to respect, in my teenage years I did a lot of work for him just to help a neighbor. I like to think he forgave my stealing his milk but we never discussed it, but he always treated me well.
 
I was born in '46. By the time i was 3 i was hiding injuries from Mama unless impossible to do so. Why? Because she'd cry an moan so much i'd have to look at it to confirm i was actually the one injured. Usually i'd wash any break in the skin.

If Dad or my eldest sister was home and i needed help applying medicine or bandaid i went to them. Both were stoic and simply helped address the injury. Plus Dad would say up front the treatment might hurt, if it was a nasty scrape that needed debris cleaned out, he would not stop at every sound or flinch, but get the hurtful cleaning done as efficiently as possible. (Mama would stop, restart repeatedly making the painful process take several times as long as it could have been done in.)
 
l was going through a cabinet which l hadn't looked in for years and years. lt brought back such memories.
One item was a little plaque which said . . .

Life
isn't a matter
of milestones,
BUT of moments. . . .
Attributed to Rose Kennedy

l couldn't have asked for a better random memory.
 


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