I do believe I'm always going to remember this past Thanksgiving. I can't help it really because there will probably be a nice little scar on my middle finger to stir my memory. My poor little finger met up with the side of the oven when I was checking the turkey. I guess a small burn is minor compared to the fact that the turkey had to lose its head for us to eat him for dinner. Still I would have been just as happy to reflect upon the turkey while it digested comfortably in my stomach without having to feel the pain on my finger.
A cook though I guess must have battle scars to show that she/he is a valiant warrior in the kitchen. Scars and wounds I think used to be a sign of fierceness and valor. Probably for a cook they are just a sign of clumsiness. Sometimes I wonder if I'm allergic to knives, because we never seem to get along very well and I'm often having to fetch the band aids.
You know I wouldn't mind being a very fancy chef who had someone who would do all the chopping. Then it would magically appear on the cutting board as if the onions and peppers had grown in the garden perfectly chopped. Then of course the chicken underneath its feathers would also have to be cut into perfectly sliced chicken strips,but maybe that is going a little far.
Well life must be tough sometimes I suppose and a few little cuts never hurt a person...well unto they got infected and they had to lose their fingers, but that never happens in these days of modern medicine. I hope.
A word of advice, don't cook like me. Its far too dangerous and painfully amusing.
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