Themeless Writing

I guess the first thing to admit is that I bought a zester. I don’t even know who I am anymore. A month ago, if you’d told me to add some lemon zest, I’d have given you a lemon in a top hat.

Now I own and “operate” my very own purple zester.

But I have to say “operate” with finger quotes (demarcated here with some punctuatorial quotes) because it’s all fun and games until somebody loses an eye…

…or some completely irreplaceable skin cells and bleeds all over their limes.

You never hear the zester with your name on it.

It’s been a difficult month for cooking. First I cut myself zesting.

Then when I was closing a jar of honey….

And then when I was preheating the oven…

And after all that, this is how my homemade ice cream turned out:

(I wish I was joking, but that really is some ice cream I made. It was camel flavored. And no, I don’t mean caramel. I definitely mean camel.)

And being a blogger, my first thought with every injury was “I’d better photo-document this!  It might be funny later.”

I’m still trying to figure out how that whole honey injury even happened.  I’m starting to suspect that someone may have replaced my little bear-shaped plastic bottle of honey with a real bear.  It’s difficult to say for certain.

The zesting incident definitely hurt the most. And the worst part is that I was still suppose to squeeze the juice out of the limes I was zesting at the time. Why doesn’t this recipe just squeeze lemon juice into an open wound? Oh wait, it basically did.

And that’s not even the worst part!

I know I said it was, but you should have figured out by this point that I am highly unreliable. Unless of course you are new to my blog, in which case I hope you will enjoy this serious analysis of socio-economic political reformation.

The worst part was that I still finished the recipe, even with the possibility that it now had human zest in the seasoning. I didn’t have a choice. I was bringing it to a baby shower and I had just enough time to cook it and get to the party. There wasn’t a spare moment to go buy new ingredients.

This was also my first adventure with cooking food for people outside my immediate family (because they say most people are killed by people they are related to, so it doesn’t seem like such a big deal to find out if my food is edible at home). But at this party, I was going to be feeding this dish to friends, strangers, Romans, countrymen.

And they all ate it. Which now means there is a group of about 30 people who now have a taste for human flesh, one of them a small baby girl still in the womb.

And for that, I would like to apologize.  In recompense, please accept this chunk of ice cream.  Hope you like camels!