In Which I Use A Rolling Pin And Assault No One
Stop laughing! This is serious! Somewhere in my small apartment and small storage space my grandmother's rolling pin hides in a box. Since I don't actually have a great many material things, you'd think I could walk right up to a box labeled "Kitchen stuff" and arm myself with the ancestral food flattener but no. For the life of me I can't think of where it might be. This is vexing for two reasons.
1. I'm making naan today. The recipe calls for me to roll out the dough.
2. When I keep something that belonged to my grandmother it is really entrusted to me until I give it to my daughter or granddaughter. If I don't find that rolling pin, my girlchildren will fend off burglars and second husbands with something I picked up on sale at an outlet in Flemington. Sure, it'll make a good THWACK! sound against offending skulls but it's just not the same somehow as clocking someone with a decades-old hunk o' lumber "just like Grandma used to."
Meaning me. My grandmother ignored lesser beings until they apologized and quietly polished the silver.
Hopefully, when I finally move into a new microscopic apartment, wherever it may be, and Paulie and I empty the storage unit we will find a box and in that box I will find my grandmother's rolling pin. For today, I'm using that pin I picked up on sale at an outlet, which works just fine in the here-and-now, but for posterity's sake, I want the real thing. I want it well-seasoned, with a history of pie crusts and a tag marked "Exhibit D."
The naan baked up okay. I guess.