Almost...Almost...Almost...

There we are!

Today's event took some time to develop. Several critical moments passed with no marred flesh, and the subject seemed to have escaped the day unsinged. The melty goodness of a frozen pizza delivered at the last moment.

Much like a no-hitter in baseball, several key "at bats" went by withheld breath. First, there was leftover chicken. Steve entered the kitchen, intent on fried chicken and potato wedges from the fridge. After fierce nuking, these morsels were ready to eat. Steve removed them from the microwave. There was no scream. Inning number one ended without a hit.

Steve then took his customary lunch hour position on the couch, and lifted the first piece to his mouth. A few picked bones and devoured potato wedges later, and still no hit. Two innings.

Next, the observer prepared his own portion of the leftover chicken with the subject looking on. Both parties passed several times during this food preparation, but no hot objects were spilled on, thrown at, or caressed by Steve. Three hitless innings in the books.

Inning number four was rather uneventful, and consisted of the daily routine of not receiving chemical or server burns at work, as well as avoiding being struck by lightning in the absence of a storm or touching say, an idling automobile engine.

The fifth opened with a dangerous moment-the preheating of the oven. Steve's patience, however, won out in the end as he patiently waited for the beeping report of the crafty appliance.

In the sixth, Steve's agility won the day. With a flash, he set the oven timer, opened the door, and placed the pizza tray on the rack. In so doing, he avoided the red hot spinning blades and jabbing spikes recently installed in our patented EXTREME oven of fiery pain.

The seventh inning made the crowd (me) think that Steve was, in fact, going to complete the no-hitter and go down in history rather than flames. In this frame, Steve removed the pizza from our novelty oven and placed the tray atop the stove, displaying excellent form in his oven mitt usage. Six outs, and this one could be in the books.

Inning number eight went quietly. The dangerous prospect of transferring pie to plate loomed ahead. Three outs later, Steve strolled happily to the living room, ready to claim his meal and the day.

Bottom of the ninth. Two outs. Steve lifts the pizza to his face. The mouth is open, breath blowing on the hot meal for extra caution. The pizza hits his lips and victory is claimed. But wait! What do I hear and see? An exclamation, and a dribble of sauce. The mouth is burned, and the no-hitter is broken up.

Still a valiant effort, and the two-a-day trend reversed.

Note from the Observer

It has been brought to my attention that I cannot create an acronym. Since I have termed these mishaps Cuisine related injuries, the acronym CUI is not at all appropriate. I'm not certain why I missed this. In any case, I will from this point forward use the acronym CRI. Thank you, dear readers, for your patience.

Twofold

Today's incendiary agenda was again twofold. Another taco incident began the action, with a Chicken finger insertion for the nightcap.

First, Steve returned to his abode for a lunch break from a trying day of work. While the observer did not directly witness the event, it was reported that Steve attempted to microwave a frozen taco-quite the tasty treat. Now, in the food handling world, microwave removal is a technique that few have mastered. Steve was well prepared for the food's coming warmth, but managed to touch the juicy filling within before a lengthy air exposure.

In the evening, a friend visited for a rousing evening of high-scoring football. This friend brought Kentucky Fried Chicken (well, a bucket of chicken, not the franchise in its entirety) to the event. After three of the manliest of men gleefully removed the needless quantities of packaging, Steve made a dive for the meatiest of breasts. Upon securing his girthy paragon of poultry, Steve slipped his index finger into the depths of the breast, somehow penetrating the crispy, savory skin. The result, of course, was a burned finger.

However, it would be unfair to not report Steve's successful production of an apple crisp last night with no CUIs...except for a sliced tongue. hmmm, I suppose there were no ICUIs, or incendiary cuisine related injuries. This is progress.

Burn!

This is the innaugural post of the Steve burning himself blog. The basic explanation is that Steve has burned himself when preparing food or otherwise being present in the kitchen for approximately 7,941 straight days. We have come to call these Cuisine related injuries, or CUIs. This blog will update each witnessed event of Steve burning himself, and will catalogue the astounding variety of burns.

Today, Steve was preparing taco meat on the stove with a metal spoon. Said taco meat was left unattended for approximately 2 minutes. Upon returning to the kitchen, Steve firmly grasped the metal spoon, and reacted with alarm when it was discovered that the spoon, after being exposed to the open flame on the stovetop, was indeed hot. A stream of obscenities ensued, and Steve continued his cooking exploits. On his next return trip to the kitchen(he left to observe a crucial third down football play), he began stirring the meat. The cosmos decided that Steve had not received enough flesh damage for this day, and thus the grease spewed out of the skillet and cascaded to his bare feet. Perhaps Steve should invest in a wetsuit in which to cook?