On this first visit to Plehn’s, we were there for the donuts, Michael had declared, which helped narrow down a very daunting decision. It helped that it was nine o’clock in the morning too, so donuts just made sense (although I have been known to have cupcakes for breakfast). We grabbed a number and stood in a short line. Michael ordered about six donuts, his grandfather maybe half that, and I think I chose two. They packaged them up, and I thought we were headed out the door to eat them to-go, but Michael reached into the cooler and grabbed a Milk Chug, and his grandfather grabbed a coffee, and they saddled up at the stools along the bar on the front wall. They seemed to make themselves right at home. Michael proceeded to eat all six of his donuts. I was trying to be polite, having only just met his grandfather, so I stuck with my dainty two donuts (although I may have sampled a bite or two of one of Michael’s).

The verdict? Deliciously homemade. Far better than a Dunkin Donuts experience, with far greater variety. But I think what makes Plehn’s so special to Michael, his grandfather, and otherLouisvillenatives, is the nostalgia of the place. Too often hometown bakeries have either closed down or turned into uppity boutique-looking spaces where the focus is more on the décor and dessert presentation and less on the taste of the goods. Plehn’s has maintained what a lot of bakeries lack: a sense of self. And a feeling of a time gone by. Seeing Michael sit next to his grandfather that day conjured up an image of the two of them many years earlier, when Michael was small: Michael on the stool, feet dangling high above the floor, sporting a milk mustache, while his grandfather sipped his coffee and thoughtfully ate a cruller. I think of that image, and what Plehn’s means to Michael, each time we visit the bakery.