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February 3, 2010
In the mid '90s I went out with a guy whose plans to use tomatoes for a dish he was making for our dinner were thrown into a tizzy when he couldn't find his super-duper special tomato-slicing knife. He turned his fancy kitchen both topsy and turvy looking for the thing, working himself up into quite a froth and lather, while I stood on the sidelines feigning marginal interest, subtracting points, and wanting to claim a sudden stomach ache so I could just call a cab, go home, order a big ol' pizza, and slice it with a butter knife.