When I was seven or eight years old, my mother tasked me to peel a bunch of carrots for dinner while she went to the basement to gather the laundry. I stood over the kitchen sink holding the first carrot in my left hand and the peeler in my right. I struggled at first. After a couple of strokes I discovered that, if I extended my index finger alongside the carrot to support it, the peeling became easier. The task then became quite mindless, and I lost focus and began daydreaming.
I was probably thinking about unicorns when I felt the sharp pain in my finger. I looked down and saw that, due to my inattention, I had used the peeler on my own index finger instead of the carrot. A single, neat strip of skin now dangled from the peeling blade. Oh, how I wanted to scream -- I could feel the scream welling at the top of my throat like pressured steam -- but I thought better of it. I was afraid to have my mother discover that, in the short moment she left me alone, I managed to flay my own hand with a kitchen utensil. As much as she loved me, or perhaps because she loved me so much, my mother was unforgiving of my self-inflicted injuries. She ascribed to the theory that coddling a child in pain encouraged the behavior leading to that pain, so each bruise or cut was met with withering reproach in addition to stinging hydrogen peroxide.
I swallowed my scream, quietly disentangled my skin from the peeler, applied a band aid, and went back to peeling the carrots -- this time, with great care. To this day, I exercise pointed caution with my peeler and every other blade in my kitchen. Looking back, I wonder if my mother's theory on parenting might be right: if you learn a lesson the hard way, you need it only once.
*This is a picture from a mandoline for sale at Amazon.com.
I've peeled and grated my fingers enough times that I try to delegate such responsibilities as much as possible. Box graters are as dangerous as vegetable peelers -- beware.
ReplyDeleteHoly cow, if I peeled my finger more than once I'd stop cooking altogether.
ReplyDeleteThe scar from my mandolin accident has finally faded away. I was making potatoes au gratin. Ed happened to pass by and suggested that I use the holder that came with the mandolin instead of using my hand. Within a few seconds, I managed to slice a nice round off the pad of my palm. I screamed, immediately covered the wound with my other hand and asked Ed to look at it and tell me how bad it was. Ed, a surgeon by training who routinely performs amputations, recoiled and refused to look at it. Sigh. Mandolins are dangerous.
ReplyDeleteI just spent the last minute shuddering after reading about your mandoline accident.
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