At this time of year, there are a lot of family traditions being taken out for a spin. Not to feel left out, I decided to engage in one of my family’s oldest cooking traditions… knives and blood.
I was, as I bled all over the bathroom sink, quite glad that I knew where the sticky sutures were. Of all those infrequently used items that moved house with me a few years back, it’s comforting to know that my mind keeps track of the blood staunching ones.
This was a minor cut as far as family knife-work goes, but I’m still hopeful of a tasty little scar.