Having come up in the 90s-00s, the few times I’ve been called “daddy” were a little surprising at the time (“it’s just something I say, don’t overthink it”, etc), but thankfully said moments were in the rear-view quickly enough.
In later years, my kids didn’t add the “y” and one even asked why other kids say it that way. Hell, I’m ok with “dude” from my kids or their friends, in certain contexts, but “bruh”? Might as well try calling me “son” or “boy”, and see how that flies, child. 🤪
On that same pedantic note: they’re not minimums, they’re testable limits. Testable. As in, not every batch is, nor every thousand…
Also, somebody here’s gonna love finding out how much of their own body mass is bacteria, parasites, and just plain dead. Not to mention that everything pasteurized still has the corpses of the “cleaned” microbes floating in it.
May or may not be from the area (ahem), but I’ll say this: if you’re not getting it straight from the oven, then what’s the point? Delivered Chicago-style is only slightly more appetizing than delivered lasagna, NGL.
OP’s pie, however, looks damn tasty. The pepperoni on top are just as garnish anyhow. 🤗