Slightly Crispy

I've been meaning to make a blog for a while now, but inspiration for it finally came last night in the form of a pan's handle clocking in at exactly 400 degrees Fahrenheit. My husband and I have been living away from home these past three weeks and have had to apply creativity to cooking utensils - our current condo came equipped with basic kitchen supplies, but surprisingly no large baking dishes. We sure do have a wine opener though. I guess the people in management around here have their priorities well established. Anyway, we used a pan as our baking dish of the night to cook four chicken leg quarters (turned out delicious, baked in butter and spiced just right).

Halfway through our cooking, we drove to the nearest gas station to return some Redbox movies, an action that caused some tension between husband and wife for reasons that might not be readily apparent. Men and women coexist with a sort of fragile truce, I'm absolutely sure. They have to, considering the fact that they're so different. Sometimes my husband and I are like night and day, like salt and pepper, like oil and water, like... you get the picture, I'm sure. We see things differently. I wanted to return our rentals last night because we'd already had them long enough to incur the wrath of the late fee. He, however, was under the belief that since we already kept the movies too long, one more day wouldn't make much difference, and wanted to leave the movie returning fun for tomorrow night instead. Our heads clashed, logic flew back and forth, and finally he threw his hands up in defeat and we returned the movies huffy and annoyed with each other.

Of course, by the time we got back to take the chicken out, I'd plum forgotten that there was a pan in the oven cooking on high. He took the pan out using a pot holder and set it on the stove. I started to get the ingredients out of the cupboard to cook up some quick noodles on the stove...

This doesn't end well.

I burned my entire right hand and spilled my pot of water I'd been trying to boil. What a mess, what a painful and ridiculous mess. My husband immediately sprang into action, of course, and put my hand under cold running water while he fetched a bowl of ice water for it, all the while with me blubbering in the background. We'd been so annoyed with each other over something so small just seconds earlier, but as soon as the fiery burn scorched the DNA from my fingers, all I wanted to do was lay my head against his shoulder and cry my eyes out, and all he wanted to do was take the pain away and stop my crying.

He woke his mom up, calling her to ask how best to fix me, and thanks to her suggestion, he cracked the eggs we had in the fridge, separated out the egg whites, and then we dunked my hand in that for a few hours until a protective layer of collagen formed around the wounds. Now, a day later, my hand feels a lot better and there's only some discoloration and a blister or two to show for it, and I can't help thinking that life is really sort of funny sometimes. One minute we're annoyed with each other to the point of not speaking, and then God tells us we're being awfully silly with a well-placed pan.

In the end, despite our differences and occasional petty fights, we make a good team. I saved us five bucks on more late fees last night, and he saved my hand from what I'm sure would have been some mighty awful scarring.

Go team Stitt! :)