When I first spotted the Sunbeam Wholesale Store (also known as Schott's Bakery) en route to Beaver's, I nearly drove into oncoming traffic. It's not just the idea of cheap carbohydrates that sent me reeling, but specifically Sunbeam white sliced bread, the forbidden fruit of my childhood. (PS: The irony of my love for "white bread" does not escape me.) Because my mom gave a rat's ass about our health, she didn't buy Sunbeam and insisted we eat whole wheat and/or less processed varieties. Sunbeam was the bread I ate in secret at the houses of friends whose parents were less concerned about Type II diabetes. To this day, I find its aroma intoxicating and every single time I see the logo with that blond lass digging into a slice, I really want to drop everything and go make toast.
Well, alas, that particular night I had to settle for the buttery roll of my shrimp poboy, but I vowed I would return to this magical bakery that I was sure would fulfill all my hopes and dreams of fake white bread.
And I was right. The unassuming storefront of the Sunbeam bakery belies the terribly exciting bargains inside: loaves, rolls, English muffins, Tastykakes, donuts and buns all heavily discounted due to imminent expiration dates. But who takes more than three days to start and finish a loaf of bread? Not this girl.
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Not all the products are explicitly Sunbeam, so I had to spend a few minutes scanning to find my beloved white bread, which was located, appropriately, under a large sign labeled "WHITE BREAD." Then, for the first and only time in my life, I walked past a display of snack cakes, without stopping, in favor of heading first for plain bread.
A "Texas Giant" loaf (approximately 30 slices) was $1.29. Um, can I take ten?
I was able to show a modicum of restraint and just buy three loaves, vowing to put one in the freezer to consume at a later date. Which would most likely be the day I ran out of loaves #1 and #2.