I guess I had it coming. In fact, I've been waiting for this for longer than a can remember…peeking around corners before I step into the hallway, grabbing extra towels at the beginning of class and making sure I smell the stock before using it and now know the intricate smell differences between marmite and brown veal stock. (Not that that has anything to do with "the incident," it's just an important kitchen practice.) I've been proud of myself lately; I've been careful and precise, making sure I walk with the point of my knives down, always announce my presence when squeezing past someone removing something hot from an oven and "mark" the handle of a hot pan with a spare towel. I guess the things you fear most always come when you least expect them, but again, I think I had it coming.
I was minding my own business, keeping one eye on my simmering Consommé and the other eye on the haricot verts (green beans) cooking on the flat top. All of a sudden, I heard a deep, booming voice that seemed to come from the sky. "Jackie, I declared to thee many years ago that thou shalt not cry wolf. Dost thou know what thou wolf hast cried?" "Um, no. I'm just trying to live my life," I assertively responded. "My young, sweet, innocent child - kitchen injuries are no laughing matter. Thou shalt be careful; my people are exhausted from the tales of your many nicks and cuts…one might suggest that thou must mature. And with that, I give you this…" I heard a pop, and felt a quick spray of coldness across the top of my hand. Weird, who just threw ice water on me? I looked around, and then all of a sudden the ice water turned into a fiery mess that was sticking to my skin. "Owie owie owie owie!!" I yelled as I ran to the sink; I looked down, and a wide, red burn was forming across the top of three of my knuckles. I held my whole hand under cold water for a time, but, as 400˚F oil burns are known to do, it just kept frying my skin. After 3 hours in ice water and 24 hours of gel burn pads it's actually looking pretty good, and I'm positive it won't blister. The trick with burns, I think, is to keep the entire area submerged in ice water. It's really hard to meet a deadline one-armed and emotionally unstable.
It was a simple mistake by the guy cooking next to me, even more surprising because he's one of the best in the class. He was browning the skin on his chicken before putting it in the oven and, as he flipped it in the pan the layer of hot oil on the bottom sprayed out with the force of the chicken and happened to fly right to the top of my hand. So, that was pretty much the most exciting kitchen injury I've ever experienced. Sorry to drag it on…I've learned my lesson now, you won't have to deal with my immaturity any more. Sike!
After we presented our dishes, we moved on to lesson two of sous vide and low temperature cooking, which was taught by the well-known head of technology at FCI and kooky inventor Dave Arnold. Just to give you an idea of the extent of his kookiness and inventiveness: he once removed all of the bones from a turkey, replaced them with foil strips and piped boiling hot butter into the center of the turkey to cook it from the inside out. Fascinating. He did several demos, which involved accidentally setting a cast iron pan on fire, blasting cream with liquid nitrogen to make ice cream and gluing chicken meat to the skin with "meat glue." He's just one of those people that you want to hear lecture about meat temperature and proper cooking lengths – he's like a ten year old showing you the toys in his toy chest. If you want to read an awesome article about the future of food technology, and the guy at the front of it all, check this out from Food & Wine.
I'd like to think that someday I'll find my niche, like Dave Arnold did in food technology, but I guess life progresses exactly how it is meant to. Who knows, perhaps I'll write some innovative new cookbook that gets a spot on Oprah's reading list, or I'll create the next classic dish that will be known as "The Jackie Lindsey." But right now, I'm just absorbing and learning – exactly where I should be.
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