Big E and I went to a sushi restaurant after little e's 4 year doctor's appt. And one of the women had a blow torch! She was searing the salmon with it. I want a blow torch. Big E keeps saying no. (In a really big, loud, "are you crazy?!" way.) (Sigh) Oh well.
He questions my kitchen safety. It is true that I once exploded a pyrex pie pan. (I dropped it on its edge lifting it out of the dishwasher- BOOM!- glass went everywhere. Yes, I had to have some stitches in my finger.) And there was the time I cut myself with a butterknife (badly), but hormones were involved (I was pregnant). And I've had a couple of mishaps with boiling sugar, but none needed professional medical attention. In the 17 years I've been with Big E, I've only had to get stitches 3 times (for accidents). And there has been a lot of cooking going on. I think that is a pretty good record. (Of course threequarters of the fun in wanting a blow torch is listening to Big E say "NO!" in a really loud voice. I can live a perfectly content life without one. Now a trebuchet... I could do things with a trebuchet...)
Why am I blathering on about this instead of posting something cool? The girls are both sick with this creeping virus that tries to make you think your recovering, just as it gets ready to kick butt. I thought G was over it last week, but no. It totally conned me. (Sorry Bunny and Claude, if we infected you.) So I am tired, and not very creative at the moment. (Or at least not very creative in a positive, productive, or useful way.)