i get it. it's just a roll. a white flour roll smothered in butter that's more than a few steps removed from the farm {i'm being generous here}where it was made. but to me, it's perfect. all wrapped up in that white paper, the feeling of the roll in my hand at 27 is the same as it was when i was 6. the anticipation of its chewy, salty perfection. it's a regional thing, i'm pretty sure. and for me at least, a special treat. the same now as then, only now rather than my dad placing the order and handing the package down from the height of the deli counter, i waltz in myself and order. a hard roll with butter, please and thank you.
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