Anyone want to join me in a little Fiddler on the Roof sing-a-long?
Tradition…tradition.
No one?
Crickets.
Anyway, for those of you uneducated in the ways of 1970’s Broadway, I will now continue with the story.
When Real Man was a kid, his Dad made homemade pizza every Friday night.
For a long time, when we lived in our second house, we had the same tradition.
But, the bakery where we bought the shells was on the other side of town, and as the brood expanded, it was just a little much, and the tradition faded.
Lo and behold, they opened up a new bakery/deli RIGHT HERE in my town.
They sell the shells we love, along with the sauce and the cheese.
And so, as of last week, Friday night has once again become homemade pizza night.
The tradition continues and oh, it is so good.
