Lessons learned

One would think that, given my penchant and enthusiasm for cooking, I’d have more skill handling sharp knives than I do.  Unfortunately, it seems I also have an inadvertent penchant for self-mutilation while in the kitchen.

At least half my fingers boast some sort of scar resulting from cutting something, the most recent being when I nearly took off the top of my index finger using the mandolin slicer my grandmother gave me last Christmas.  To be fair, it was my fault, as I refused to use the protective plastic thingy you’re supposed to put between the hapless veggie and your hand.  It felt too unwieldy, at least until I was hopping around the kitchen trying to hold my hand above my head and keep the blood out of the onions.

Time passed, my finger eventually healed, and I recently decided to bring out the mandolin again.  With the protective hand thingy, and with a slower pace.  It’s a great little device, capable of far finer slices than anything my clumsy, now-scarred fingers can produce.  Which makes for much nicer salads, as far as I’m concerned.

So, Grams, I know you were a bit worried when you heard about the finger incident earlier this year.  It’s all good, and me & the mandolin are good buddies.  At least for now.

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