My dad, born 1911, worked in bakeries all of his younger years until he owned one. Our family, 10 kids, never ate store bought and we were never allowed white bread. We always had unsliced loaves and as youngsters, if we kept whining for more, mother would cut what she called "a bloody doorstep", (her British birthplace, I guess) to shut us up till next mealtime. Dad would make 5 pound bars of Christmas cake, baked in wooden boxes, tons of hot cross buns and a vast assortment of other seasonal goods. Black rye and dark rye breads, warm with butter, couldn't be beaten.