I'll talk about that man up there, that Chef Boyardee, in a minute.
First, about the pan. For a woman who eats out all the time, which Hendersonville Epicurean surely must do, as many write-ups about restaurants as she does, which would make you think she wasn't in the kitchen all day, I'd say this is a pretty good and filfthy pan.
First, about the pan. For a woman who eats out all the time, which Hendersonville Epicurean surely must do, as many write-ups about restaurants as she does, which would make you think she wasn't in the kitchen all day, I'd say this is a pretty good and filfthy pan.
Run your eyes over it and pick out all the little dings and dints. And all that black gunk around the edges--you've got to have all that to have a sincerely grungy pan. If I were grading these pans like a judge grading a dog in a show, I'd say this pan's traits were pretty much in line with the breed.
Is it dirty enough to make a winner? Well, the jury is still out on that one, since it's the first of the pans in the running I've put up. I'm wrestling with how to choose a winner, anyway.
Should I give the pans points for dinks, dints, and grunge spots, or just shoot from the hip and holler it as I see it.
I don't know yet, and if I did I wouldn't tell a one of y'all.
I've got to keep y'all in suspense.
Life has no meaning without suspense.
I can't wrap my mind around square pizzas, or I figure that's a rectangle, but I guess how something tastes isn't all tied up with how it's shaped, like the raviolis and tortellinis you see in the store which I never cook because once they're cooked I can't tell the difference one from the other and would just as soon have spaghetti, and half the time Kraft or Chef Boyardee out of a box, truth be told.
Y'all do remember Chef Boyardee, I hope. There's a picture of him up at the top. I dated him once when I was a spit-curl girl, but I don't remember much about it. Must not have been much to it.
One thing you can tell is Hendersonville Epicurean (I still can't get over that name), she makes her pizzas from scratch because you can ride from Manteo to Murphy and not find a whole lot of rectangle pizzas ready-made, not that I've tried.
The moral of this story is this: If you've got a pan you've used for years and every time you use it you stand at the sink with a Scrunge or a Brillo soap pad and scrub that stuff off of it thinking your mama's watching you and you better scrub it 'til it's shiny and new, well I feel sorry for you.
You must not have much else to do.
You must not have much else to do.
You danged old fuss pot, you!
