Owie

I have spent too much money eating out. It's one thing I derive a great deal of pleasure from. No matter how hard I try to envision a shiny new iBook on my desk, or a statement from the student loan people saying my loans are paid in full, I cannot bring myself to save up for a rainy day. I've always been this way-- when my Mom would give my brother and I our allowance, he'd still have his at the end of the month, while my pocket was lighter by the end of the first week. I try my best to save, to be responsible, but when someone mentions a dinner at a southern restaurant or an Ethiopian restaurant or Restaurant Week, the visions of responsibility give way to my baser instincts to sate my hunger with delicious foodstuffs.

Anyway. A few weeks ago, I bought a ledger to keep track of the money I earn and spend by the day. And in one week I spent well over $100 on food out. Breakfast sandwiches, Bob's Southern Bistro, Chinese take-out. I don't buy clothes or shoes, but I eat a lot more of my salary than I realized. Thus, I resolved to cook more. It's not that I don't enjoy cooking-- I do, and I'm pretty good at it-- but there's a lack of socializing that bugs me. Also: dishes.

Last night my roommate came over. Which sounds odd, but she basically lives with her boyfriend, so we seldom see her. I had a recipe from Good Deal with Dave Lieberman that I wanted to try and I had most of the ingredients, so I figured it wouldn't be too bad. Sadly, I bought the pork at Whole Foods, and just the meat alone cost $15. But, I rationalized, I'd spend $50 on a good meal out, and this would feed me for days.

I talked to my Mom while I got the risotto going, and I seared the pork on the stove. My roommate has really nice pots and pans, so I could follow the recipe and stick the pan directly into the oven after I'd seared the meat. I hung up with my mother and realized I'd burned the risotto to the bottom of the pan. It wasn't a lost cause, and I managed to scrape most of it off the burned layer without a smoky flavor added. Unfortunately, that wasn't the only thing that would get burned last night.

My roommate came by, and we started talking about her job and her boyfriend. I was thinking about how to get the food ready, that I'd burned the risotto, and the fact that I had to run and get my laundry out of the dryer when the meat was done. I reached into the over with the grabby silicone mitt and pulled out the pan, and set it on my cutting board. I put the mitt down to get something, then went to move the pan off the cutting board. Did you notice the step I missed?

I grabbed a metal handle that was about 375 degrees with my bare hand.



Needless to say, I spent the rest of the evening with my hand in a vat of ice water, greeted with the burning sensation my my tissues reacting to the damage I'd done them if I took my hand out of the water to let it dry. I tried to sleep, but every time I'd get remotely comfortable the ice would be a shade too warm to keep my hand from erupting into the feeling that the pan was permanently burning my hand. I applied aloe several times. I took huge quantities of Advil. I alternated between sandwich bags full of ice and a cold compress I found in the freezer. I cried and moaned like a baby, and thought about how I would start a bloody charity for burn victims, because if just my hand felt as bad as it did, I can't image what people who have been in fires feel like. I tried to imagine gelato in Italy. I tried to wonder if Venice had a wet and moldy smell. I tried to incinerate my loud neighbors with the power of my mind. Something worked, and I fell asleep, but failed at killing my neighbors. I woke up, well-rested, and tried out my hand. It felt a little sore, but largely okay. I got in the shower, which I like scalding hot in the morning, and stuck my left hand out to avoid irritating the burns.

I think it's going to blister in some spots, but I hope that it goes away on its own. At least we'll have some snow to stick my hand in should it start to hurt again. And I'll have to add the cost of two silicone oven mitts to my ledger so next time I can prevent myself from moronic behavior since I'll leave the mitt on my hand when I grab a hot handle.