Several months ago, I set out on my first big remodeling project of my life—the demolition of an outdated, mostly unusable Arizona room. It was a weird “L” shape, unbearably hot, and kind of smelled like dirty sponges. Needless to say, the room needed to go.
After pondering if I should build a home office or expand the living room, I settled on a less expansive, less expensive project—an outdoor kitchen/patio. As someone who isn’t afraid of carbs and has baked bread and made pizza her whole life, I wondered if there was a way that I could incorporate a pizza oven in this idea.
I stumbled upon a talented contractor who saw my vision, and so the project began. The room came down in one fell swoop, and soon, things began to really take shape. The bar was constructed, and the tile and grill were purchased. And I found my pizza oven— a wood-fired, full dome that would sit atop the cement pedestal like a cabochon crown jewel of the backyard.
Last Thursday, my oven finally arrived, and what a production it was. A crane was needed to hoist it above the fence and onto its final resting place. Neighbors came outside to watch the spectacle as the oven sailed through the air, on the hottest day of the year. The boys stood, alongside the contractor and his workers, all gazing in fascination at this floating tank of an oven.
Of course, I took some video, but I also stopped to think about what the oven really meant. After ten years of being divorced, having to move around, and not feeling quite tied to anywhere, this pizza oven represented an anchor—an anchor of home.
Weighing in over 1,500 lbs, it’s not going anywhere, nor am I. It’s going to be the hearth that represents where my heart is.
As this outdoor kitchen project slowly comes to a close, I feel more connected than ever to this quirky little house that I struggled to buy as a single woman. Looking forward to making some pizza and plenty more memories at home.
Song of the Day - My Baby's Taking Me Home - Sparks