On a recent visit to a small farmer's market in town, my husband's eyes lit up to a glorious orange row of pumpkin breads, and instantly sweet memories of spiced aromas emanating from his mother's kitchen were inspired. Excitedly he picked up two loaves, hurried home, cut off a slice and with much anticipation he took a hefty bite. Memories of the warm, moist, pumpkiny, spicy bread were quickly siphoned as disappointment fell across his face. So dry was the bread that he wondered whether it was stale, and the pumpkin was so indiscernible that it could have passed as zucchini bread.
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