Midnight in the Garden of Vodka and Pizza
So, last night I discovered this little friend in the bottom of my stove.
Here he is.
I’d just set about reheating ‘Drew’s Special’ (pizza with pineapple, pepperoni, bell peppers and extra cheese, of course. Midnight-pizza-regret is a tale for another time. Why? Whyyyyy? I cannot stop myself) in my adorable but ridiculously impractical O’Keefe & Merritt, fast forwarding my way through the latest episode of The Ringer* and hydrating in compensation for my out-and-out retro defiance**, when I detected some serious smoke.
So, I open the stove. This is much more complicated than it sounds, seeing as the spring in the oven door is rather wonky, and one must hold it down with one’s potholder-protected knee in order to have a free hand to deal with roasts and tongs and such. Upon further investigation, having confirmed (with the aid of a flashlight, since the light above the stove has been burned out for… oh… three months or so) that Drew’s Special was unsinged, I discovered a single, solitary black bubble of carcinogenic matter.
So, I open the stove. This is much more complicated than it sounds, seeing as the spring in the oven door is rather wonky, and one must hold it down with one’s potholder-protected knee in order to have a free hand to deal with roasts and tongs and such. Upon further investigation, having confirmed (with the aid of a flashlight, since the light above the stove has been burned out for… oh… three months or so) that Drew’s Special was unsinged, I discovered a single, solitary black bubble of carcinogenic matter.
What IS IT? A moon rock? A Christmas-come-early-and-I’m-clearly-on-the-naughty-list lump of coal? A visitor from the other side?
I haven’t the foggiest.
A close up.
Like any intellectually curious nimrod, I proceeded to perform a biopsy. And as a cook who has burned many a foodstuff in her day, I’m not half-bad at kitchen forensics. To my amazement, however, there was nothing inside. Not a single clue to its source or elemental makeup. And I mean, this thing is big. Like, 3 inches in diameter. Big and solid. Yet oddly spongy.
I’m considering having it sent to a lab. Meanwhile, I’m off to jog off the aforementioned midnight-pizza. Regrets. So many regrets. Soon they are going to put me on Hoarders. As a hoarder of past regrets. Buried alive.
*I know. I KNOW it’s horrible. But one must remain loyal to Buffy. I celebrate SMG’s entire catalogue, if you must know. With the exception of Simply Irresistible. Even 14 year old me found that magical crab to be utterly unforgiveable.
**Retro defiance, n. As defined by Modern Drunkard Magazine as “hostility towards current ideas about healthy living, which includes a return to allegedly non-healthy activities such as smoking and drinking.” And midnight pizza, apparently.
