Real bread

It's hard to find real bread in grocery stores.

This is not a new problem, as shown by this excerpt from Up In The Old Hotel, a collection of New Yorker articles by Joseph Mitchell. Mr. Flood is talking about the bread made by Mrs. Palumbo in 1944:

Mr. Flood grunted, "Whatever to hell it's called," he said, "it's good. Mrs. Palumbo knows what she's doing. She don't take ads in the papers to tell big black lies about her vitamins, she don't have a radio program rooting and tooting about her enriched bread, she don't wrap in cellophane, she don't even have a telephone. She just goes ahead and bakes the way her great-great-grandaddy baked. Consequently, by God, lo and behold, her bread is fit to eat. I'm not against vitamins, whatever to hell they are, but God took care of that matter away back there in the hitherto -- God and nature, and not some big scientist or other. Years back, bread was the staff of life. It looked good, it smelled good, it tasted good, and it had all the vitamins a man could stand. Then the bakers fiddled and fooled and improved their methods and got things down to such a fine point that a loaf of bread didn't have any more nourishment than a brickbat. Now they're putting the vitamins back in by scientific means -- the way God did it don't suit them; it ain't complicated enough -- and they've got the brass to get on the radio and brag about it; they should hide their heads in shame."