Earlier today, my husband reported from the kitchen, “I broke a spatula.” No problem, I thought, calmly. We have lots of spatulas (or “pancake turners,” if you have to be pedantic about it.) Based on his nonchalant tone of voice, I assumed it was one of those non-essential, nameless, faceless minions I reach for when just any tool will do.
Little did I know, when I entered the kitchen to start making lasagna for tonight’s dinner, that I would find this carnage strewn across the counter in a cruelly casual manner:
He didn’t destroy A spatula; he killed THE spatula.
Murder most foul.
It was a unique size and shape, perfect for smaller items, fitting smoothly under just about everything. It had a slightly narrower head and I haven’t seen its like in any cookware store or section. I believe it was even a pre-marital asset. I don’t know if I will ever fully recover from this devastation. And just when I need it to make pierogi and potato pancakes for Christmas Eve!
Well, I don’t know if I can go on with today’s column, which was supposed to be about going to Amici’s. Despite the fact it is a shadow of its former self, Amici’s is still the place in our area to go for imported Italian pastas and sauces, canned tomatoes, oil and vinegar, Italian pastries and holiday specialities like panettone. The deli and meat are still pretty good, too. Especially if you want fresh mozzarella in a variety of sizes.
I say it’s a shadow of its former self because it used to carry a wider variety of everything it carries now and the produce section used to be good. I’m still glad to have it, though, because while we have a choice in Eastern European, Asian and Mexican ethnic grocery stores, Amici’s (and Angelo’s at Belmont and Maple) are it for Italian stuff. Which in addition to foodstuffs include things like thisand this:
So, despite my trauma and shock I will make my lasagna. Which, even though I’m not Italian and didn’t learn from a bona fide nonna, will turn out at least somewhat decently because I have a place to buy real ingredients.
Even if I will be forced to serve my squares of cheesy goodness from a too-big spatula head.