How is it that my blog never got picked for a book deal or movie rights? Oh yeah, because nobody reads it. Their loss, this stuff is hysterical. I was going to send this story in an email to my sister but it’s so awesome I’ve got to tell everybody.
The CSA started back up a couple weeks ago and we’ve got turnips. Not a whole lot, but there’s turnips. Honestly I don’t know what to do with turnips at all, so I went hunting. I found a few interesting recipes on Cooking Light, so I chose this one:
We had no parsnips, so Karen went to the store and bought the sorriest looking parsnips I’ve ever seen. You make do with what you’ve got, right? So Sunday comes and it’s time for some barbecue. We’re going to make some steaks, some chicken thighs, potatoes, and the gratin. While the coals are heating up I get out the turnips and parsnips and begin peeling them. Karen asks “What should I use to slice the veggies?” and my answer should have been THE KNIFE. But the recipe says to use the mandoline, and we’ve got a mandoline, and we haven’t used the mandoline for several years so I say “Use the Mandoline.”
What happens when someone uses a mandoline for the first time in three years? They go to the emergency room, that’s what. Almost immediately Karen slices off a large part of her thumb. It’s still attached, but she needs stitches. She needs to drive herself so I can stay home with the kids, reassuring them that Mommy’s okay. So she goes into the bathroom to rinse her hand and get ready to go. In the meantime I grab the parsnips and say to myself “I’ll finish the job, but I’ll be careful. Not like Karen.“ Almost immediately I slice off a piece of the palm of my hand. You know, the meaty part by your thumb? Yeah, sliced it right off, no flap or anything. I grab the towel recently put down by Karen and apply pressure. It’s not bleeding too bad, unless I, you know, release the pressure.
At this point Karen comes out of the bathroom and sees me sitting there with a sheepish look on my face. I show her the wound. There is nothing to stitch; mine sliced clean off. So Karen goes to the ER. I have the presence of mind to tell her not to drive the new car, so she doesn’t drip blood all over it. From my first aid training and I know that you’re supposed to apply pressure to a wound to stop bleeding. So I grab a rag and a ace bandage and wrap my thumb/hand/wrist as tight as I can and still move my fingers.
While Karen is gone I finish the gratin; it’s already cost us a pound of flesh, I’m making it for dinner dammit. The potatoes were already in the oven and the coals were hot by this point so I put the steaks on the grill and finished making the gratin. For the kids I ordered a pizza. Karen came home with a very professional looking bandage. Mine, not so much.
Karen told me “The doctor poked the flap with a needle to see if it was still viable.” After several convulsions I asked her WHY DID YOU TELL ME THAT?
The gratin was excellent. In case you’re wondering (and I know you are) we used fontanella cheese.