Hot Pans & Shiny Hands

Sounds like a bizarre euphemism, right? But actually no, it's more a matter of one preceeding the other. In my last post I mentioned being slightler the worse for wear (am fine and dandy again now - thanks for asking!) and the reason had to do with Spanish Omelettes, Isa Chandra Moskowitz and raw stupidity. Let me explain....

Last night, I was yearning for an omelette - you know, the kind you have with a huge fresh salad and perhaps some crusty bread. So I plumped for the Spanish Revolutionary Omelette in VWAV - throwing in some extras like kalamata olives (yes, more Greek than Spanish but wickedly tasty in any dish as far as I am concerned) and sun-dried tomatoes. I steamed sme asparagus to have on the side (My Beloved won't touch it for some insane reason!) and was thrilled when the timer echoed brightly from the kitchen to announce that the omelette (50 mins in a 400 degree oven) was finished.

I was busy trying to work out how to use Facebook at the time so My Beloved answered the timer's call and took the saute pan out of the oven. Enticed by the aroma, I finished up my FB activities - becoming friends with Erik Marcus of Vegtalk! - and wandered into the kitchen to serve dinner. Now, I ought to say that - in my own defence - I was pretty tired. It had been an incredibly long day which started with a routine trip to the doctor's office (I finally, finally agreed to a cholesterol test just for the anticipated pleasure of getting a good result and blaming it on my diet! tee hee!!) at 7am, work from 8am to 5:30pm, errands on the way home, walking les gars who pulled and tugged and barked hysterically for the whole walk and then starting dinner at 8pm....Yes, I was a trifle fatigued.

However that doesn't excuse the idiocy with which I proceeded.

Yes, you can see it coming, right?

Noticing the omelette on the stove top ready to be sliced, I picked up the saute pan.

Sparing you the grusome details involving screams, gallons of cold water and tears, I spent the rest of the evening with my hand in a gallon baggie of ice, even taking it to bed with me wrapped in a flannel pillow case because my skin was on fire. Well, not literally, but it felt that way whenever the ice-numbing wore off.

Waking up this morning, I found to my utter amazement that not only was the hand still there, but it hadn't even blistered. Yes, the skin is kind of tight and white across my palm and fingers, but there is no lasting damage. Except to my ego, of course. Oh and the Chardonnay-fueled hangover from drinking a glass or two too many 'for medicinal reasons' as prescribed by My Beloved.

So the moral of the story is....?

There isn't one. Just wanted to explain my ealier comment of feeling under the weather....

Stay Vegan, Friends, and away from saute pans!