Ain’t Got that Lovin’ Peelin

As any of you that have read me knows, back around the first of the year, I decided to try my hand in the kitchen.  I had for some time performed the role of prep chef.  All the chopping and peeling was my domain.  But, in an effort to man up, I started fully preparing one meal a week.  I’ll have to say most of the results were tolerable and all were edible, so I was encouraged.  Since that time, I have lost my wife and am now the head chef.  If I am going to eat, it’s up to me to prepare it, and I’m kind of OK with that.  I must say I am a little intimidated, but am muddling through.

Most of my adult life, I have owned and used power tools. Drills, saws, grinders, etc, and have with few exceptions escaped injury.  As such, I feel quite comfortable with tools in general.  However, since I have begun honing my culinary skills, I have been confronted with a simple looking utensil  that, not unlike a scorpion , has proved to be much more dangerous then it appears.  I refer to the common, run of the mill potato peeler.  Actually, my new potato peeler.  Yes, after complaining about the old one for longer the I can remember, I stepped up and invested in a new one.  Over several years of peeling potatoes and carrots, etc. the old one had become, how do you say, marginal.  The philosophy had always been that I was left handed and she was right handed, so we of course were using opposite sides of the blade.  It should last forever.  That is until I realized that I always peeled everything away from me and she peeled everything toward her, completely destroying the theory.

Several months ago, I noticed a brand new, bright red peeler had appeared in the kitchen drawer.  Although I had not been consulted prior to the purchase, I assumed she had finally succumbed to my perpetual grumbling and bought a new one.  I assumed wrong.  I had no longer picked it up when I was informed that what I had in my hand was not a vegetable peeler at all. It was a fruit peeler.  Well, you could have fooled me.  It sure looked like a potato peeler.  It turns out it has a serrated blade designed to remove the skin from soft fruit like peaches and tomatoes (yes, tomatoes are fruit) and is super sharp.  So I mumbled something about ‘it wouldn’t have a potato eyer if it is only for fruit’ and put it back in the drawer. 

But I digress.  When I bought the new peeler, I was of course anxious to try it out.  It had to be sharper then the old one, and boy is it.  It should have included a warning that it could be hazardous to your health.  In four outings, I have peeled a spot on two fingers and left a slice in a thumbnail.  In a way, I’m kind of glad she isn’t here to see it.  I can hear her now.  “And you wondered why I never let you to get a chain saw”.  

So here’s the deal.  I never thought that cooks were an endangered species, but I am slowly developing a healthy respect for the profession.  I now enter my kitchen with some trepidation and, whenever I open the drawer and see it sitting there, taunting me, a little shiver runs through me.  It is no longer an experience but instead a challenge.  I have even considered placing a notch on the handle for every successful encounter.  

The other day I ordered a new cheese grater.  Now I’m afraid to open the box. Just sayin’.