Don’t judge me by my pizza stone, or: The Birthday Miracle

April 24, 2007

This is an entry about Family with no comments

Full disclaimer: I realize I’m taking a risk by showing you the state of my pizza stone. Yet I don’t feel like I need to pretend I’m something I’m not (i.e. neat, competent) with you. Plus: I love you.

Perhaps you remember the fallen comrade who passed earlier in the year? To refresh your memory, it was my pizza stone who survived many years of ill-fated “pizza” and “bread” experiments. And like me under a tight deadline when I forget the difference between margin and padding, it cracked. It was replaced. I spilled sauce on the replacement the first night I got it and it cracked. I brought it back for a full refund, hoping the man at the returns desk wouldn’t look inside the box. Now, some many months later, another pizza stone has cracked, mostly likely because it grew brittle from being the bottom rack mainstay.

I priced new stones last week and thought of the day when the HearthKit would be mine, yet I also thought “I can’t bring ruin to yet another pizza stone through a combination of messy pizza-making habits and laziness. I can’t bring another pizza stone into my house.”

That’s when the BBM [Big Boss Man] came through with a pizza stone via UPS, as if he was telegraphed his sons distress signal. It arrived last night. Thank you daddy!! Perfect timing on two counts!