Written by Rich Forestano Friday, 31 August 2012 00:00
I’m not sure what grade it was, but I remember every Friday, hot pretzels were sold on the top floor of Covert Avenue School near the sixth-grade classrooms. If you work with or know me, you have clear-cut knowledge of my pretzel-nuttiness. It’s safe to say every Friday until I graduated, I had a dollar in my pocket bound for the woman who stood outside the classroom with the piping hot baked delight.
I’m not sure if they still sell the treats today, but if they do, I envy every child who gets a chance to take a bite out of a snack that has graced my palate for as long as I can remember. Yes, I can get a hot pretzel almost anywhere, but none invoke childhood memories like the ones I bit into as a Covert Avenue youngster.