Every time I use my mandoline without injury, I want to announce it to everyone I know (though I usually just let Wasabi know). I still get nervous when I pull it from the cupboard, awkwardly massaging my still-numb thumb from the Great Mandoline Tragedy of 2005.
Today I decided to turn the last of the potatoes from the pantry into french fries -- pretty, uniformly cut french fries. That task requires the use of my scariest tool. But hey, a girl's gotta step out of her comfort zone now and then, right?
While I usually let Wasabi know before I start slicing, as well as after I've emerged unscathed, today I decided to jump in without 911 on hold. I managed to turn six potatoes into cute little sticks, parboil them, toss them in a smidge of oil and salt then bake them in a roasty-toasty hot oven -- all without need for emergency services.
I then carefully scrubbed the surgically-sharp blade and its housing. All blood and muscle tissue remained handsomely encased in my dermis.
After they were done, the consensus was that they were really quite delicious.
And not having to go to the ER made them even tastier.