By Wes Seeliger

"Bake sale" said the sign over the door. Joe's mouth watered.

He could imagine all the treats inside. He opened the door and walked in.

Joe couldn't believe his eyes. As far as he could see in the building there were rows of tables with signs over each table to describe its specialty. Cakes, Cookies, Muffins, pies, tarts.

Except ... there were no cakes, cookies, muffins, pies or tarts.

You see, this was a "recipe" bake sale.

Someone grabbed Joe's arm.

"Coconut macaroons. Get the original!"

"Not so. Our recipe is older than theirs," another table shouted.

"Devil 's food cake. Accept no substitutes," a shifty hustler whispered in his ear.

"Angel food cake! Just like grandmother made."

"Who's grandmother?"

A lady began to shove him toward a table of fruit tarts while another yanked on his arm to try a roll.

Yelling arose from every table as red-faced salesmen hawked their recipes.

Confusion ruled and brawls broke out between tables.

Joe had taken all he could. He tore himself away and ran outside as fast as he could.

As he breathed in the fresh air and walked away, he said, "That was no place for a hungry man."

Adapted by Gayle Erwin, used by permission