If you have Eastern European grandparents or parents you probably grew up eating caraway seeds in your rye.

When I was a kid I turned up my nose at the soapy smell that was almost as harsh as pickled herring. My Dzadzi would get one light rye no seeds, and one with seeds – always enticing the grandchildren to try a bite year after year. “Come on, come on, try it,” his big paw jiggling a slice with chunks of butter inches from my nose before I ran away.

As a teenager I started to give in, mainly by Babi’s encouragement, “But have you tried it three times? You’re taste buds change all time Samantha!”I began to find the extra flavour interesting dipped in borscht soup and with cream cheese and smoked salmon.

And then somewhere in my twenties I loved it, craved it even. I was so shocked this year when kids came up to the sample table and loved the caraway instantly, most adults were not so brave.

Dan who doesn’t absolutely love caraway started making it when my Dzadzi came to visit and within the first bite my Dzadzi and I were nodding in agreement “It’s good, but it could use more caraway.” Those who love caraway always say that though. So, our caraway rye at BBK is a medium amount. Enough for Dan to enjoy and enough for me to immediately devour half a loaf when it comes out of the oven.