What not to do in the kitchen + a PSA

Sorry for my absence yesterday but Sunday turned out to be a bit more exciting than I had planned which left no time for blogging. Don't believe me?

Sunday was not unlike many others before it. In fact, now that football has come to a close, Shaun and I were thrilled to have the day to catch up on food shopping, closet measuring, laundry and other fun adult Sunday things. In fact, I spent the morning planning our meals for the week, followed by food shopping, followed by cooking. I was planning to share all of that with you yesterday, however, when I get to the details of how Sunday went down, you'll understand why my measely meal planning got the bump.

While I was cooking away, Shaun had recently watched Giada at Home, where Giada made some potato chips and decided that he too had a hankering for some homemade chippies. After whipping up Rocco's blue cheese dip (our favorite of yore), Shaun broke out this guy to get his chip on (minus the protective guard). You can probably guess where this story is going.

 

And if you can't, well...

 

think about it for a moment...

 

There it is. I'll spare you the intimate details. Let's just say that there was blood. Some screaming (mostly from me). A lot of orange Gatorade. A lengthy amount of time passing before we made the decision that yes, it was pertinent to get to a hospital stat. It wasn't pretty. In fact, I'm still feeling a bit traumatized by the whole ordeal.

So we left the half sliced potatoes on the kitchen island and hopped in the Prius over to Jersey City Medical (a fine establishment, if you are in need of a hospital, by the by). A little while later, we were home, bandaged, medicated (painkillers for the man and a sedative for me...just kidding...sort of) and relieved that this bloody ordeal (er...pun not intended) was behind us.

Some of us were more relieved than others. At least the latter in this situation got some good painkillers out of it. That made him happy.

The finger in question is just a coincidence. I think. At this point, he did encourage me to tell this story on the blog, though in hindsight, it could have been the meds talking.

So the moral of the story, friends? Don't get a mandolin. We had ours for less than a month before this disastrous incident. While it produced some delectable goodies like this...

 

...it's probably the most dangerous kitchen tool you could own. And not worth the risk of chopping off the tip of your finger (and fingernail). And so not worth seeing your awesome husband (or awesome self) in so much pain. Take it from me, it's not pretty, it's not pleasant, and it's going to take a heck of a lot longer to heal than a simple bandage.

But if you do own one, or aren't deterred by the bird-flipping man in the photos above, please for the love of Jesus, use the guard it comes with or at least an oven mitt for protection. I'm pretty sure I won't be looking at a mandolin ever again. Of all of our kitchen mishaps, this has by far been the worst one and was a real wake up call to be SO super careful in the kitchen when handling any sort of tool, be it blades, knives, or electrical equipment. It's so easy to make a simple mistake and all it takes is one wrong move. My poor sweet husband has the severed finger to prove it. So please, be super super duper careful when handling this tool.

That will conclude today's PSA.

 

I'm traumatized.