Godspeed, favorite Melted-Handle Spatula

This post has absolutely nothing to do with wandering around Kansas and everything to do with my long-time friend, Melted-Handle Spatula.

Back when I was in college, the only good thing to come out of my sophomore year housing arrangement was a spatula, which was forgotten/abandoned by a roommate who was probably as happy to leave me behind as I was to leave her behind.

Let me tell you about this spatula.

It had a uniform, stainless steel blade and a stainless steel handle and a hard plastic grip that was horribly deformed when it was left on a hot stove burner.

No soft plastic. No silicone. No nylon. No floppy blade or handle.

The blade was even and EXACTLY the right width and sharpness for cutting the perfect-sized brownie or piece of sheet cake. It was exactly the right thickness and strength for lifting out a heavy piece of lasagna or casserole. It was perfectly balanced, its handle never warped under the weight of food, and because it looked so wonky, no one would ever steel it at a pot luck dinner.

It was the perfect workhorse spatula.

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Let me tell you about my journey with this spatula.

After it was abandoned by my roommate at the University of Southern California, it moved to my junior/senior year apartment, and then to first job apartment #1 in downtown LA, first job apartment #2 in downtown LA, second job apartment in Glendale, apartment in Emporia, house in Emporia, rental house in Ottawa, current house in Ottawa.

This spatula and I have been together for 22 years. And that spatula was no spring chicken when we met. It was around when I broke up with a boyfriend, started dating my soon-to-be-husband, and it saw me married. It knew me before I had a dishwasher.

So many meals.

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I took it to a writing group brunch this weekend.

I remember packing it up when it was time to go.

My husband and I drove home 50+ miles.

And somehow, the spatula didn’t make the trip with us.

“I’ve lost my favorite spatula,” I said last night.

“The one with the melted handle? I love that spatula,” Jim said.

And believe it or not, I’m weepy over this spatula, with its melted handle and teeny patch of rust on the blade.

I went outside in the rain today to see if I left it in the truck or dropped it on the way to the house. No luck.

Jim called the library where we had our brunch. Nope.

My spatula is in the wind.

Godspeed, Melted-Handle Spatula. We’ve traveled many years and many miles.

Too floppy, too wide, too bulky, too crooked–these spatulas (spatuli?) try hard, but they just aren’t my missing Melted-Handle Spatula.