For as long as I can remember, my favorite bread, the bread that I still crave above all breads, has come in a can.
It's called brown bread, or outside of New England, where it is mostly unheard of, Boston brown bread. My grandmother, whose family came from Portland, Maine, a brown-bread holy land, would bake it often, sliding the dense, brown loaf out of an old bean can, slicing it in thick discs and smearing cream cheese across each surface.
But generally, in a pinch, on a Saturday night, served with a plate of baked beans and hot dogs, my brown bread came from a gold and red B&M Brown Bread can. It came from a can because, in keeping with old New England tradition, B&M steamed its brown bread in a can, never baked it.
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