:: Whoops ::
I love cooking. One of the reasons is that I get to play with sharp objects. That's just the guy side of me. It's similar to why a lot of guys can't cook but love grilling: we get to play with fire. Add an element of danger and guys will try just about anything. (If grocery stores put tampons at the end of an American Gladiators-style obstacle course, wives and girlfriends will never have to buy them again.)
Another thing about me as that I can sometimes be accident-prone. I bump into things, drop stuff, and knock things over. (It's amazing anyone lets me work in their restaurant.) Not a great combination if you spend as much time as I spend cutting, dicing, and chopping as I do. (Or for that matter, work at a job where I'm always carrying large trays of food and drinks.) But I've been quite lucky as I still have all ten fingers and toes. And fortunately, I've never dropped anyone’s food. (Though I lost count of the number of empty glasses dropped on the way to the dishwasher.)
I finally gave myself a nice gash on my left pinky last night with a new chef's knife I bought a few weeks ago. Nothing too serious: I was mincing up some garlic and rosemary for the rack of lamb I was cooking and the knife slipped out of hand and my pinky can now look forward to a quarter-inch scar.
I clean it, douse with a splash of tequila I had nearby (no, I was not drinking any - yet - and I couldn't find the rubbing alcohol), bandage it and resume cooking. Once the lamb was in the oven, the smell of tequila gave me a craving for a good margarita. I make mine from scratch, which involves squeezing fresh limes. I fail to remember the cut and the lime juice drips onto my finger. I couldn't tell you why or how but for some reason, lime juice on a cut stings worse than alcohol.
I avoid any more incidents, plate my dinner and pour a nice glass of Sangiovese. It was delicious, worth all the mishaps. Naturally, I almost knock over the wine glass.