You may have noticed that I've not posted an entry in a few days. That's because it happened, ladies and gentlemen. The thing that must happen to anyone who aspires to become a chef. I cut my finger. Majorly.
Bleeding + ambulance + bleeding + hospital + more bleeding + three stitches = out of cooking commission. I didn't cut my finger while cutting anything. I cut it while washing my newly sharpened chef's knife. That's right, the big one. Soapy hands + thin sponge = 3 cm cut. It turns out the most common way to cut yourself is while washing your knives or taking them out or putting them away. Please take note and be careful.
When the paramedics arrived they pulled open the cut and told me that I hadn't cut a tendon nor could they see the bone. Good news. The sharp, straight edge made a straight and clean cut. Thank goodness we have six days without class this week, so I hope it can heal in time for next week's practicals.
When he saw my bandaged finger, Chef Terrien told me I'll forever have "un souvenir du Cordon Bleu". It's also a rite of passage, a mark, a brand, that says you've bled the necessary blood to call to the almighty chefs of Christmas past and say, "Can I now be one of you? I'm ready, bring it on!" This sucks, however, so I hope it's the first and last cut or burn (I'm told burns are the worst).
I think I'll focus on eating rather than cooking this weekend, so look for entries about Parisian patisseries' Easter displays. They're all over town and all gorgeous.
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| 3 stitches 3cm (I'll spare you the gory photos) |
When the paramedics arrived they pulled open the cut and told me that I hadn't cut a tendon nor could they see the bone. Good news. The sharp, straight edge made a straight and clean cut. Thank goodness we have six days without class this week, so I hope it can heal in time for next week's practicals.
When he saw my bandaged finger, Chef Terrien told me I'll forever have "un souvenir du Cordon Bleu". It's also a rite of passage, a mark, a brand, that says you've bled the necessary blood to call to the almighty chefs of Christmas past and say, "Can I now be one of you? I'm ready, bring it on!" This sucks, however, so I hope it's the first and last cut or burn (I'm told burns are the worst).
I think I'll focus on eating rather than cooking this weekend, so look for entries about Parisian patisseries' Easter displays. They're all over town and all gorgeous.
