That’s still one of the scariest moments from my childhood–my (supposedly invincible) mom dropping the Cutco knife and it jumping up and slashing her on the calf.
My friend’s son mentioned to a group at a party that he was selling Cutco knives and almost everyone immediately pointed to whatever scar they had froma past Cutco encounter.
My father always had to predict the absolute worst for any injury we “brought on ourselves”; we took to joking about how we should just amputate now since it was bound to turn gangrenous.
My otherwise reasonable and intelligent wife storing stock ( as in turkey or chicken soup stock ) in glasses or Snapple bottles. Ever guzzle down chicken stock when you were expecting apple juice?
When the (long-suffering_ wife and I were remodeling the kitchen, for whatever reason we had to bake a cake. Somehow ( no one has figured out HOW ) the plaster
and flour got mixed up. While I was bitching and cussing about the repair job on the wall glopping and falling off, she tried to cut the cake. Literally broke the knife. Took us longer than I’ll admit to figure out what had happened.
Made a nifty lawn ornament… in the neighbor’s yard. ( let you dogs do their business on my lawn will ya? )
Nice summer day, on the patio grilling burgers for a family party. My in-laws had brought their Irish Setter along and it got along with my Bichon the way the Palestinians and Israelis get along. Right as I opened the grill lid, the setter ripped (yes, literally ripped) through the screen door to get at my dog. In its zeal to eat my pooch, it bounced off of me, knocking me forward. I put my hand out to steady myself and stuck it right on the grill.
There was a brief moment when my brain noticed that 1) I could see steam coming off my hand and 2) I could hear sizzling. Then my brain registered pain. A whole shitload of searing, screaming pain. I pulled my hand off the grill and stepped back. Into my dog who was running from the setter. I fell over backwards to the concrete patio, cracking the back of my skull on the ground.
It took a long time for the grill marks to go away. I also bruised my tailbone and got a huge lump on the back of my head. I will never allow that dog back into my house.
Hee. Reminds me of a mistake my father made in the kitchen. Mom cooks and he does the clean-up and dishes. She had boiled something up and Pop went ahead and poured the water down the sink. :eek: “What happened to my potato water?” since Mom freezes water from cooking for heartier soups. Now he asks every time. We’ll be sitting in the living room and here comes Pop with a saucepan of water. “Save this?”
My incident of kitchen carelessness occurred on October 10, 1988 (yes, I remember the exact date). I was working at Burger King at the time. We were in the middle of a frenzied rush when I got in a hurry and ran the knife through a chicken sandwich I was cutting without looking at what I was doing. I didn’t realize my left ring finger was in the path of the moving blade until it was too late (even now nearly 20 years later, just thinking about it makes me wince). Blood was all over the food prep surface. Another employee had to run me down to the nearest doc-in-the-box to get my finger stitched up. The scar is still plainly visible. If I ever rob a bank (and would be stupid enough to not wear gloves) the detectives wouldn’t have to look too hard to find out who did it.
Trust me on this: chicken stock when expecting apple juice is worse. The really sad part? It took about two full seconds for my taste buds to catch up with my brain; 2/3 a bottle of the stuff. :smack: I can eat things that would gag a maggot ( not that I’m saying ANYTHING Mrs. Justanoldvet cooks would be anything less than ambrosia ), but that one made me queesy for hours
1/3c finely chopped maraschino cherries
1/2 butter, in small pieces
1 lb powdered/confectioner’s sugar
1/2c cocoa powder
1/3c evaporated milk
1 tsp almond or vanilla extract
[1/3c chopped nuts, if you like]
Melt butter, then stir in sugar, cocoa and milk. Microwave on high for 1 minute, and stir. Microwave 30 seconds at a time until slightly thickened and smooth when stirred; then stir in cherries/nuts and extract. Refrigerate in a pan until solid, then slice.
The batch we made with Baileys exploded during the initial 1 minute cooking cycle; we hypothesize that the alcohol content vaporized all at once and kablammo! Giant fudgy mess. It also needs to be watched very carefully in the later cycles, but the consequences are not so catastrophic once the initial explosion danger has passed. It doesn’t set quite as firmly as the original recipe – the original turns into chocolate rock if put into the freezer; the adulterated version stays fudge – and since it’s not cooked very long the set fudge retains a strong smell of delicious, delicious booze.
We haven’t tested this yet, but we also hypothesize that since the milk content is so low to begin with, you could probably see success by using any liqueur with significant dairy content, such as Godiva’s milk or white chocolate liqueurs, or crème de cacao.
That was also the year we discovered that traditional “bourbon balls” are ten times the awesome when you make them with Chambourd.
I am no longer allowed to use the mandoline I bought last year before a big party at our house. I sliced off the tip of my finger because I decided the safety grip was for wimps.
She was getting ready to go to work and was running a little late. After having put on all her clothes she realized that the collar of her shirt was a little wrinkled. Rather than take the shirt off and iron the collar, she decided to save time by deciding to do the ironing in-situ.
Jist a few days ago befor thanks giving I had a 20lb turkey sitting in brime in the fridge. While watching tv i herd a weird noise. It sounded like a bolling ball going down the lanes then hitting a strike. I ran to the kitchen in time to watch i swear to u in slow motion as the turky brime liquid pan and all contents of the fridge come flying out of the door. I quickly saved the bird puting him in the sinh ang thorough cleaning then turned my attion to the mess.
my older sis started squacking about fema and how it was a dissaster prudently making fun of my dismay. Un like me my sis doesent take cooking a serously as I do
I guess you could say theres no reason for crying over spilt turky
I haven’t done anything too stupid, luckily. (There are times when chopping onions that I wish my house had a built-in eye wash or maybe a fume hood, but most of my stories about stupid things that happen have occurred in the lab.) Though there was this MSPIMS thread I had a couple years ago. My difficulties making a cream of potato soup.
It took several times on several different occasions for him to learn to wear an oven mit before grabbing the hot baking sheet out of the oven.
One of mine was at work many moons ago. I was cleaning right before closing. I had just finished cleaning the deli slicer but had not put it back together again. I noticed there were splatters on the wall behind it so I reached back with a sponge to wipe the wall. As I brought my hand back I caught the side of my right index finger across the blade and managed to lop off a chunk of skin right at the knuckle.
The worse part was several days later when I removed the bandage from the hospital and discovered my raw skin had grown into the bandage. A lot of pain and freezing cold water later to remove it.
I have a nasty scar to this day which stings like pins and needles every now and then for no apparent reason.
Let’s just say that the two yellow boxes you keep in your pantry should not be confused. Corn starch in chow mein = yum. Baking soda in chow mein = interesting special effects. Nothing was hurt but dinner.
Oh, and those meat thermometers with a cord that lets you see the temp without opening the oven door? One might want to use an oven mitt to adjust the probes position. Just sayin’.
I cook maybe once a week or so. I had made a casserole, and overfilled it with the liquid creamy portion, so some of it bubbled onto the floor of my oven. I left it there, fully meaning to clean it up when it cooled. I forgot. The next week, I’m preheating my oven for… something. I open the oven door to put the new food in, with the new food in my hand. I immediately put the new food back on top of the stove. The bottom of my oven is on fire. I close the door, open the door once more (quickly, just to check!). It is still on fire.
I quickly throw pants on, run out of my apartment, push past my really hot neighbor and his friends who are standing in front of the fire extinguisher, and as I stand there looking at the extinguisher, I see that there is nothing to break through the glass. Except my fist. So, I hit the glass with my fist to shatter it, grab the extinguisher, and put out the fire. I got a cut on my hand I didn’t notice until I walked upstairs to visit said hot neighbor. His friend doctored me up.
I can relate, but I was no where near the kitchen at the time.
I wasn’t a real wine drinker, and one time in college I was out with one of my friends parents and a bunch of other people. We went to a really fancy italian place, and the dad was really into wine. So, to not give offense I politely and nervously tried one of the many wines wines he had on the table. I poured a bit from the into a glass and started to take a wine-tasters sip, you know all thoughtfull and deeply analytical. As I was tipping the glass to my mouth busy looking thoughtful my brain had a nano-second to observe and relay to me “That is a really odd colored greenish wine, and it doesn’t really move in the manner of a typical beverage”.
Nothing like a mouthful of olive-oil to detroy any pretensions I had of class. Stupid fancy restaurant that provides high-end olive oil in wine like bottles. And the thing was since I was planning on doing the wine-drinkers swishing thing, I never open my throat to swallow any. But the shock of unexpected still caused a panioc reaction.
For the record you can’t really do a good spit take with Olive oil. It’s too thick and viscous, and doesn’t mix with air spray on command. You get more of a glob erupting from your mouth and oozing down your face and shirt.
Wow. I have done all sorts of stupid things in various kitchens.
-At Captain D’s, slicing lemons. See, fast food restaurants rarely have adequately sharp/well maintained knives. I think my only choice for slicing lemons was this humongous sandwich knife, and it was pretty dull. The only thing worse than slicing your index finger to the bone is slicing it to the bone with a knife coated in lemon juice.
-Making cornbread the Southern way, but with a glass casserole dish rather than cast iron. Place butter in dish–place dish in 450° oven–remove dish and pour in cold batter–dish go 'splodey.
-Remember those sinfully delicious donut-like breadsticks you used to get with a salad at Wendy’s? I gave myself a very impressive scar on my left bicep from underestimating the length of the pan while trying to hold the door open to remove them from the oven.
-I know for a fact that boiling rice noodles will adhere to naked flesh, leaving an amazing burn scar pattern of curlicues and loops.
-Not my stupid, but a coworker at Waffle House dropped the bacon weight onto a grease covered grill, squirting a huge amount of grease and oil directly onto my arm. The scar is shaped like a snowman - hat, carrot, and all.
THE FOLLOWING IS VERY NASTY!
The very worst stupid I ever saw was also at Waffle House, when I was 17 and first working there. (I may have told this one sometime before) I had not yet developed my stomach of steel, and was still very freaked out by the sight of injuries. This genius of a girl decided she was going to brick the grill* without wearing a heat glove. She didn’t put enough oil on and the brick was skipping across the grill’s surface. It eventually flipped over, and she ended up with her right hand stuck to the grill. She went to pull back, and left the flesh of her palm still adhered and cooking on the grill. Kinda put me off barbecue for a while, y’know?
*If you don’t know, flat grills are usually cleaned with a pumice brick that removes the patina of long hours of cooking in grease. The grill is turned up to very high temps, upwards of 500°, and oil is applied to lubricate the surface and to help carry away the pumice particles. A heat resistant glove should always be worn, along with eye protection, for exactly the reason described above.
