Sticks and stones may break my bones . . . .

I don’t fall down a lot and am typically able to navigate without running into things*, however I do have a propensity toward the burn and cut variety of self-inflicted wounds.  Check out my hands at any point and there will probably be at least a remnant of a chopping mishap**.  But somehow, for all of the occasions in which I disobey an old knife adage***, it’s never when I’m acting intentionally recklessly with a giant butcher knife that I spill a few drops of blood.  Give me a nice sharp knife and an obedient carrot and I’ll slice off a hunk of finger every time without fail.

 . . . and I’d like to think that people are not surprised when they hear this due to the exhaustive amount of time spent in the kitchen.  I fear, however, that – while you’re not surprised – it’s more akin to the fact that I’m a spaz.

I’d also like to think it’s not some detriment to my intelligence nor a missing chromosome that affects my ability to seamlessly interact with the environment in which I exist.  Rather, my theory around my afflictions circles around the speed at which I move vs. the speed at which my brain moves.  While I am, indeed, self-characterized as witty and quick-thinking, I have a sneaking suspicion that my hands are simply overly obedient and reactive. 

While a normal conversation might go something like:

Brain: Hmm – If I stick my hand in that coffee mug I’ll be able to turn it so that I might see the rest of the design on the outside . . .
Hands: uh . . brain . . . are you sure that’s a good idea?
Brain: Yeah, you’re right hands.  The coffee mug, from which from which steam is spilling, may be filled with a hot liquid of some sort.

My internal conversation goes more like:

Brain: Hmm – If I stick my hand in that coffee mug --
Hands:  . . done and done.****

A similar conversation probably occurred when I decided to eat the marshmallow directly off of the fork of which I had, immediately preceding, been roasting over the oven burner.

My brain moves fast. My hands move faster.*****

My most recent burn event came even after audibly saying, ‘No no jenna. No touchy’ …  after pulling a pan from the oven and placing it over a burner to make a gravy from the drippings ... after I caught (and stopped) myself not once, but twice reaching for the handle … after a few curse words I was able to continue my cooking adventure, try my hand (pun intended) at eating and fall asleep on the couch – all while gripping various bags of frozen vegetables.  And was left with just noticeable lines that slanted ever so slightly as to exactly mimic the shape of a pot handle when I closed my hand.

 . . . so don’t grab the handle!

Cheese and Pear Pork 
Despite my obvious mishap – this dish was bananas.  It’s originally from cooking light, but I took my own liberties. 

1 onion
1-2 garlic cloves, minced
2 tsp of dried fennel (fresh would be excellent too.)
1 cup chopped pear
½ cup of pumpkin beer
2 tsp dried thyme
1 chopped banana pepper
Splash of sriracha
½ cup crumbled gorgonzola
1/3 cup panko
2 tbs fresh parsley
2 pork tenderloins
½ tsp salt
1 ¼ c broth 

1.  Heat oven to 425 
2.  Heat olive oil and sauté onions until they start to brown.  Add pear, beer, thyme,    fennel, garlic, banana pepper and sriracha.  Cook 2-3 minutes.  Cool.  Stir cheese and parsley. 
3. Slice the pork lengthwise so that it opens like a book – don’t cut through the pork . . leave the binding.  Pound to ¼ inch. 
4. Place a few scoops of cheese mixture on pork, leaving some room around the edge.  Roll ‘em up and stick em closed with a few toothpicks. (I had to use far more pricks than anyone ever intended, I’m sure, but that might just again be due to my spaztacticness.) 
5. Heat 1 tbs of oil in an oven proof skilled.  Add pork and sauté 5 minutes browning all sides.  
6.  Bake for 12 minutes or until cooked through and just barely pink in the middle. 
7. Remove pork from the oven and let stand for 5 minutes.  Bring broth to a boil in the pan and scrape off all the bits.  Cook 4 minutes or until slightly thickened. 
8. Throw ‘em all on a plate and devour. 

*specifically while walking – when I partner with a working automobile the same claim can’t be made.

** how is it that the amount of force to be applied to cutting through a butternut squash makes me want to throw myself down on the ground and pout, while the same knife slide easily right into and threw my thumb nail . . all the time?

*** I can hear the dude in my head, ‘you're seriously going to cut your finger off.”

****obviously this is purely a hypothetical situation that never happened to a young girl while camping with her family. And her mother would never choose to yell at her for the obvious misstep in judgment instead of consoling the obviously shaken youngster.

***** incidentally, that’s the very opposite explanation of my studder . . . fuck.