I’ve always believed that the best way to get a feel for a place is to follow the scent of fresh‑baked bread.
Every time I drive through a sleepy Michigan town and catch a whiff of cinnamon rolls, rye loaves, or that unmistakable hint of buttery pecan pie, I can’t help but pull over, park my car, and pop the door of the nearest bakery.
Just to see what generations of family hands are kneading, whisking, and frosting behind the counter…