My Favorite Pan- Yes... I do use them!

We are about to battle it out in Harlem again. This time it doesn't involve any angry mobs, unless you count Kevin and me as a mob. We are about ready to descend on Harlem to rescue a beloved member of our household... our stainless steel baking pan. You may be asking yourself, "Ryanne has a pan? She knows what to do with it in the kitchen?" and I would not begrudge you for these thoughts. The truth is, I do have a stainless steel pan (or at least I used to) and it is being held hostage in Harlem. 

This all started Sunday morning when I was making my Sunday morning breakfast for Kevin's parents, Rick and Marianne. I needed to keep the pancakes warm as I finished up the rest so I went to get my favorite stainless steel baking pan to put into the oven at 170 degrees (which is the temperature to keep food warm at, as Marianne informed me.. so helpful :o)  ). Well, it was at that second that it hit me. I didn't know where to look for the pan because I hadn't seen it since we moved. AAARRGGHH!!!! The pan is under the stove in the drawer where the broiler usually is in our old apartment.  

Rick, Marianne, and I left with great haste to rescue the pan from Harlem, but after our hour of travel we were denied access to the old apartment. My knight in shining armor, or Kevin as he is known to you, called the leasing office today to attempt to gain access to the apartment but the evil trolls in leasing office flat out refused to grant us access. 

I promised myself I would not cry over this pan but it is no ordinary pan. It is the pan my grandma gave me for my wedding shower gift. She searched all over to find a stainless steel pan because she said everyone should have one. It was more than a pan, it was a treasured gift from my beloved grandma. I loved it because it made me think of her every time I used it. A pan can be replaced but the memory and sentimental value cannot.

So, with this last casualty, I am finally turning my back on Harlem. Harlem is shunned. If I were an old Jewish lady I would say something in yiddish and spit twice to really let Harlem have it for taking my beloved pan.