I make pizzas harder than a boulder crispy and hot. I make doughy chocolate chip cookies that are warm and melt in your mouth. I make those heartwarming home-cooked meals just like mom used to make. I take cinnamon rolls out of that purgatory known as the fridge and create a fragrance that fills up the house and has children asking “are they done yet?” When people make a dish of cheesy and meaty lasagna or top of their steak with a side of a baked potato, people don’t go to the fridge, dishwasher, or microwave; they go to me, the oven. Without me, frozen pizzas or fish would be as real as unicorns and TV dinners would be a myth like the Loch Ness Monster.