On certain mornings, the village of Georgetown smells as if it was baked inside a loaf of bread. That was my initial thought when attempting to track down local baker Rob VanKeuren. I had the address, but wasn’t certain where he was exactly. My “Where are you?” messages went unanswered, although not on purpose, the guy was wrapped up in baking. A cluster of mailboxes and my own lack of sleep the night before combined for confusion and I ended up in a driveway, still sniffing the air, and I was greeted by a tiger-striped cat, then a kid. I asked if he knew where I could find “the guy that bakes bread.” He brought my question to his mom and returned with, “Go to Lombardi’s. A right turn out of the driveway and immediately on your right.”
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