15 + 15 points
The Callouses on Your Hands by Sir Pinkleton
July 16th, 2010 10:05 AM
This:
is my burnt hand. You can't see it so well, so here's my other, flawless hand to compare:
My burnt hand should appear darker, as it's scarred. Anywho, story time.
In Junior year of highschool, I meant to make my focus program (the field I would eventually do my senior project in) in the culinary field. This is before I decided to become an engineer, and thought I could be a chef. Anywho, there are 3 levels of culinary classes at the highschool I went to: Foods & Nutrition, Gourmet Foods, and FEAST (I forget what FEAST stood for). I had done Foods &nutrition and ourmet foods in Freshman year, but they added books with worksheets and official tests and such after sophomore year. because of scheduling conflicts, I couldn't make it to Gourmet foods (I had AP English at the same time). So, I did the class at home, and turned stuff in/took tests outside of the main class.
One of these take-home-and-cook recipe things was a spinach salad. It called for candied pecans, bacon bits, scrambled egg pieces, and the sauce from the cooked bacon. That's the part that got me. I made all of the grease pool to one side, so I could scoop it with a spoon, and something like a piece of burning grease flew onto the hand holding the frying pan, and the grease spilled onto my hand. it hurt lots, obviously, as it should have: I later learned that it was a 3rd degree burn. Not having had such an flaming hot burn (yo) before, I didn't realize that gray, easily peel-able skin meant 3rd-degree burns. I put a gauze pad on it, and continued making the salad. The good news is that that salad was the best salad I've ever made, or eaten, for that matter. The bad news is that I had a gross hideous hand to cover up with gauze during my Prom (sorry, the pic isn't on this computer, and you can't really see my hand anyway). It eventually went away though, and I felt good for finally earning a battle-scar from the battlefield known as the kitchen. I still bark orders at my bacon-grease to calm down when it occasionally spits at me.
And there be the story o' my burnt hand.
is my burnt hand. You can't see it so well, so here's my other, flawless hand to compare:
My burnt hand should appear darker, as it's scarred. Anywho, story time.
In Junior year of highschool, I meant to make my focus program (the field I would eventually do my senior project in) in the culinary field. This is before I decided to become an engineer, and thought I could be a chef. Anywho, there are 3 levels of culinary classes at the highschool I went to: Foods & Nutrition, Gourmet Foods, and FEAST (I forget what FEAST stood for). I had done Foods &nutrition and ourmet foods in Freshman year, but they added books with worksheets and official tests and such after sophomore year. because of scheduling conflicts, I couldn't make it to Gourmet foods (I had AP English at the same time). So, I did the class at home, and turned stuff in/took tests outside of the main class.
One of these take-home-and-cook recipe things was a spinach salad. It called for candied pecans, bacon bits, scrambled egg pieces, and the sauce from the cooked bacon. That's the part that got me. I made all of the grease pool to one side, so I could scoop it with a spoon, and something like a piece of burning grease flew onto the hand holding the frying pan, and the grease spilled onto my hand. it hurt lots, obviously, as it should have: I later learned that it was a 3rd degree burn. Not having had such an flaming hot burn (yo) before, I didn't realize that gray, easily peel-able skin meant 3rd-degree burns. I put a gauze pad on it, and continued making the salad. The good news is that that salad was the best salad I've ever made, or eaten, for that matter. The bad news is that I had a gross hideous hand to cover up with gauze during my Prom (sorry, the pic isn't on this computer, and you can't really see my hand anyway). It eventually went away though, and I felt good for finally earning a battle-scar from the battlefield known as the kitchen. I still bark orders at my bacon-grease to calm down when it occasionally spits at me.
And there be the story o' my burnt hand.
Ow. I ache in sympathy.