Last night I forgot to mention my pasta disaster. It’s often I roam my cupboards and throw things in a pan. Last night was no different.
I chopped half an onion like a pro, minced garlic like champ and the chorizo was sliced to with an accurate inch of its life. It was all going swimmingly until the pasata. I couldn’t locate the damn scissors when I decided to rip open the box. Which of course didn’t work. In this instance I opted for a sawing motion with my pairing knife. It was going perfectly well when I wasn’t applying any pressure, well apart from the box wasn’t cutting and the pasata remaind inside the box.
Pressure was applied. Stupid here; in a sawing motion, in slow motion, sawed straight into my index digit. Not my most wise move of the day. So now I’m advertising my Jams and a big fat warning of how not to open a box of pasata. My Jams are still cool though. War wounds – barely. I’ll live to fight another day, and as I do I’ll be raising money for the Poppy Appeal while I try not to saw off the rest of my fingers with a pairing knife.
Love, L xox