One Slice At A Time

I like to think that I’m a bit of food gadget kind of guy. Not the type that buys the avocado slicer mind you, but the kind that spends his time quietly looking for the right tool for the job. Right now, it’s knives, actually…it’s always knives; who wouldn’t want a nice sharp blade to slice apart all of your goodies? Why am I telling you this, you ask. Well, during my online shopping travels, I was contacted by the friendly crew over at CSN Stores. With over 200 online stores offering everything from counter stools to dog beds to cookware, it was like uncovering a gold mine of kitchen and home decor products (they even ship to Canada!). While discovering a pretty sweet place to do some online shopping is good enough on its own, the best part of this adventure was an opportunity to give something back to you.

So here’s the deal, all I want to know is – What was your most traumatic kitchen knife experience? Tell me about the time you sliced the tip of your thumb off, or when you dropped a knife on your foot and had to go get stitches. Do this, and in return, you will be entered into a draw for a Zwilling JA Henckels Twin Four Star 8″ Chef’s Knife courtesy of the fine folks How sweet is that right! Tell me just a little about your mad knife skills and you’ll have a chance at this sweet knife.

All responses must be in by Wednesday, March 17th  by 5PM MST**, so I can punch all your names into the random generator. I will contact the lucky winner, who will have to get back to me within 48 hours. That’s all.. Good Luck..  CONTEST CLOSED

*I was in no way, shape, or form, given any promotional item or compensation for this post. It’s all about the knife and passing the love onto you.

**Canadian And US residents only.

Winner – Congratulations ERICA (comment #7)


24 thoughts on “One Slice At A Time

  1. My worst knife experience occured when I was an adolescent. I was cutting an apple when I misjudged how far my dull kitchen knife was. I accidentally stabbed the tip of my knife into the end of the pointer finger of my left hand. I still have the scar. Damn apple.

  2. This is not a tale of severe blood loss, pooling on the ground in front of you while you wonder “is there still time to finish those last 3 pieces of bacon sizzing in the pan before I pass out?” But it was equally as terrifying as letting bacon go to waste.

    It was my wedding day and I was drying off my very sharp knife with a hand towel. Idiotically I ran the cloth over the sharp side of the blade, but this time it felt a bit different, a little something like my flesh splitting open.

    There was a split second where there was no pain and I wondered what kind of damage had I done. Was I really going to have to go to the hospital on my wedding day and show up with my hand bandaged? I guess I could clumsily thrust the ring at the lucky bride and hope the bandage kept the blood seepage to a minimum. It didn’t feel THAT deep…and it wasn’t.

    It was just a flesh wound that required a small band-aid. Sorry no gory payoff here. Still, a scary moment knowing that I may have screwed up a big day.

  3. I have cut myself with kitchen knives exactly twice in my life. The first time was about 15 years ago, the day we had our dog put to sleep. I thought I was dealing well with the sorrow and decided to cook dinner for my family, as that is one of the ways I deal with stress. I was chopping something — onions, I think — looking out the window to where we had buried our dog of 15 years. When I looked down at the cutting board, there was blood everywhere, and the end of my thumb mixed in with the onions.

    The second time was about a year ago. I had just bought my first expensive and really sharp knives. After lecturing the kids about not using Daddy’s special knives and my wife about not putting them in the dishwasher, I barely touched my pinky with the paring knife and took the nail clean off.

  4. It was Jan 6th 2008, the day of my wife’s Birthday. And being owners of a small cafe, we had no choice to work the business on this special day. And a busy day it was too. As we frantically tried to keep up with the demand entering the shop, I was in the process of chopping a tomato. As I proceeded to cut this juicy red object I missed and cut into my thumb. TO THE BONE.

    It wasn’t quite the comical fountain of claret seen in horror movies, but nonetheless I did have the look of a gentleman who had just finished chopping up some body parts.

    My father-in-law was present at the cafe and was startled to see me running out the door of the cafe with a focus usually reserved for 100m sprinters. Reg is a hulking French-Canadian who runs a concrete business and looks like the kind of fella that chews bricks for breakfast. He comes out to the parking lot to see what is going on and is wondering why I’m trying to open my vehicle with my teeth. I show him the cut and he just screams like a girl! Then he looks again and turns white! That had me laughing (probably slightly deliriously) all the way to the Medi-Centre.

    Since that day, my wife accuses me of always trying to steal the limelight, even on her Birthday. Which is probably true.

  5. Ah yes, the terrible knife memory…

    I was preparing a lovely butternut squash soup for our weekly potluck at work. I was chopping away at the squash, peeling as I went. All of a sudden, I chopped off the fingerprint part of my right index finger. It bled and bled and bled. I wrapped it up quite well (in my opinion, anyway) and refused to go the emergency room. I just HAD to finish the soup…and a dessert too. It all got done!!

    Needless to say, it bled throughout the night. I ended up at the emergency room the next day, after having spent the majority of the day trying to remove the gauze from the night before. I had a full month of mega packing on my finger as it healed. And now I can’t type with it (but I’m a pro 9-finger typer).

    It all ended up becoming a good science experiment for my students in our Evidence & Investigation unit. Do fingerprints grow back or do they not? Mine has not. 🙂

  6. My parents have had dull knives for years and they’ve cost me no small amount of sweat and blood. They have never cost me as much blood, however, as my own ineptitude. One particularly memorable evening I was slicing cucumber for a salad while watching the TV in the next room. I had gotten a good a rhythm going and momentarily looked up from my work to focus on the television when I suddenly felt the resistance change on the knife blade. Odd, I thought, that doesn’t feel like cucumber. I looked down and discovered, predictably and to my shock, that rather than buried in the pale green flesh of cucumber, the knife was nestled comfortably in the pale pink flesh of my thumb. Flesh that was rapidly becoming red from a suitably large stream of blood that poured forth.

    You might think that something like would hurt like all get out, but no, I barely felt a thing. Why? Well, because I had sliced cleanly through about half of the tip of my thumb, and gone right through the nerve. The end of my thumb was now completely numb. There was pain, however, involved in righting the situation. I began calling for my sister, who was upstairs listening to music and likely chatting with some boy. I yelled for her, I hollered, I screamed, all to no avail. She did hear my ruckus, but assumed – yay for little sisters – that I was mad at her about something pointless and decided to jack the volume on her speakers and ignore me. Finally, after my voice hit a suitable note of panic, she turned off her music and hollered back downstairs, “WHAT?!” My reply that I had cut myself and was bleeding profusely brought her in double time.

    Now, you might wonder why, instead of gauzing up my finger and getting on off to an emergency room, I had to call for my sister’s help. This is the painful part. I was at that time, as I still sometimes do, cooking in my underwear. So picture for a moment, me in standing in my skivvies, thumb wrapped in a tea towel, standing in front of a cucumber covered counter and a bloody knife, with my sister kneeling in front of my hitching up my pants so I would be decent enough to visit the doctor.

    Oh, the shame.

    Several years on and I still have the scar and less than stellar feeling in my left thumb. It also has a tendency to be overly sensitive when it’s cold out. Other things have changed to: for one thing I make a point of not watching TV while chopping. And I acquired some wickedly sharp knives that I treat better than gold. I still cut myself.

  7. This is a story of youth and hubris. I was about ten or so, and just beginning to explore the kitchen — you know, beyond peanut butter and rice krispies. I was slicing bread with a serrated knife, and I picked up the knife to examine the blade more closely. Looking at the serrated edge, I thought to myself, “Hmm, how could a bumpy edge like that be sharp? Doesn’t a knife have to be straight to be sharp? It can’t actually be that sharp, can it? Why don’t I test it?” And I pulled the tip of my finger across the blade. Yes, I did. Of course, it sliced a deep valley into the soft pad of my fingertip, and red blood quickly flowed out. The pain was instant and throbbing.

  8. When I was very young I was in the kitchen watching my mom prepare some food for dinner when all of a sudden I noticed blood was going all over the cutting board. It was weird because it seemed that my mom didn’t even notice, and that’s because the knife was so sharp that she didn’t! Luckily she just got the skin of her knuckle, but it was enough to make sure I was careful with knives ever since.

  9. This is my husband’s story. And it’s mine, too. My dearest husband has taken over the kitchen duties for the past month while I desperately attempt to finish my latest novel for a deadline with an editor. For the past 15 years of our marriage and as the mother and step-mother of five children I have been sporadically working outside the home and writing books, all while taking on the primary management duties of a household- including almost all cooking. Sure, my husband has sliced some onions, made salads and done more than his share of the dishes, but he has not MANAGED mealtime planning, prep and cooking. Until lately.

    Just last week, he had planned chicken on the bbq for dinner, but he’d forgotten to take out a package of chicken breasts from the freezer. He’d forgotten to marinate them. He’d forgotten to thaw them out. He is a man who manages of staff of 12 people at an office. He problem solves all day long, but not about frozen chicken.

    I was in the office/second bedroom working when I heard the snapping sound and then a sharp, distinct expletive. “Is everything okay?” I shouted down- unable to disguise the annoyance in my voice at being interrupted at the wrong time. “Fine. Fine.”

    Boy, did I feel guilty when I went down to dinner an hour later and his hand was mummified with gauze bandages. “What happened?” I asked.

    “I needed to separate those chicken breasts…”
    “I used a knife…”
    “It slipped and you cut yourself?”
    “You stabbed yourself?”
    “The knife broke in half. Just snapped. And…then I stabbed myself with the broken end. On accident. It was an accident.”
    I unwrapped the gauze to reveal a wound that looked like a little more than a flesh wound; his reflexes kicked in sooner rather than later. And then the fullness of his story came to me; he snapped a knife in half.
    “It was my good knife wasn’t it? The one I saved up for when I was 21. The one that I use every day, right?”
    I have forgiven him. It was not easy. I really miss that knife.

  10. I’m usually quite careful when it comes to using knives, but these last two weeks have been hell on my fingers. Last week, I sliced my finger open while washing dishes when I reached in to fish something out of the water and only got a knife blade in return. Then, later, on the other hand, I sliced into my thumb while cutting tomatoes. That one wasn’t as bad as it could have been, though. The tomato juice stung more than the cut. But last night! Last night’s accident didn’t involve a knife. I was peeling a cucumber for our nightly salad and because the cucumber was wet, my grip slipped and I slammed down on my left thumb with the peeler, peeling off a thick piece of the skin on my thumb in the process. It took an hour to slow the bleeding and it’s currently wrapped tightly with gauze and tape. (please note: I said *slow* the bleeding. I never actually saw it stop) That’s going to leave quite an interesting scar — or gouge, I guess, is more appropriate — on my thumb. Peelers are very dangerous, too. Go figure.

  11. Heeding my mom’s advice to never put knives in the sink before doing dishes has certainly allowed me to avoid disaster. Seeing my mom with too many cuts to her hands really makes you wary – I hate blood!

  12. I am terribly afraid to write that I have never seriously cut myself with a knife because with my luck, I will, this afternoon… But I want to participate so I’ll tell you how I cut myself with a… special knife for wood, not sure what it’s called. I was learning how to carve wood, trying to make a spoon (it DOES have to do with the kitchen after all), and my prof came and told me to carve the wood away from my left hand’s fingers… and I said yes yes… and 10 minutes later, the knife hit my left thumb really badly and I went to the prof holding my thumb in a pool of blood in my hands… The poor guy had this look in his eyes that so many profs have: “some people will never learn!”

  13. I don’t have any stories that are too traumatic but just last week I managed to slice my thumb while opening a pack of ham at lunch and then I sliced my ring finger while chopping onions for dinner about 4 hours later. For a few days I was wearing Pirates of the Carribean bandages on both because they’re the only ones I could find in the house.

  14. Neglected and alone for too long on the top shelf of my refrigerator, this little piece of spiced gouda had gotten a little stale in it’s brown paper wrapper. Not about to let this delicious hunk of heaven go to waste, I pulled out my knife and tried to skim the rind and dried bits off so I could eat the center. And, as you guessed. I was pulling the knife towards me (much to my father’s chagrin) and it was duller than hell. Not quite paying complete attention to the project at hand: the knife pulled through the tough stuff with some force, through the creamy centre, got caught on the rind and then quicker than hell – skimmed an inch and a half flap on the back of my wrist. I looked at it stunned. I’ve cut myself more times in the kitchen than I can count, but never on cheese and never so much in a fillet style manner. Today, I’m a proud owner of a 3/4 inch reminder of why you never slice cheese with a dull knife, and you sure as hell don’t cut towards yourself. But I still do….

  15. My 12 year old son was slicing some cheese and cut his hand. He screamed and yelled for help, but where was I? Way downstairs, out of hearing range. By the time I got upstairs, he was leaning over the sink, clutching his hand with blood pouring out. Fortunately, it was not a deep cut and was easily bandaged. I felt extremely guilty as a parent not being available at a time when my child needed me the most!

  16. Well not sure if it counts as a knife but i was using my mothers brand new extremely sharp peeler on some potatoes, a very large batch, i was not taking my time and was running through the huge stack of them when one potato went red that was in my hand. Looking at my hand holding the potato it is covered in blood, a quick rinse of cold water showed me that i took off most of the tip and some of the side of my pointer finger. My dad, who is always in the kitchen but never helping just standing in the best spot to get in everyone’s way starts freaking out while i grab a clean dish towel wrap my finger grab some ice and go back to peeling potatoes. The tip of my finger eventually grew back and it was round too, no funny flat bit

  17. I’d just come home from my evening shift at a fastfood restaurant and was preparing to microwave a hotdog for dinner. My father had sharpened the knives earlier that day. The newly sharpened knife cut right through the frozen (what was I thinking) hotdog bun and halfway through the tip of my index finger. I quickly grabbed the wounded tip and applied pressure. It didn’t seem to be bleeding that much so I thought it wasn’t a deep cut. That is until I let go and the skin stuck to my finger as I pulled it away and I saw bone. That’s about when I started screaming.

  18. Growing up in a restaurant environment and with a Chinese mother than can cook, I was introduced since small to the dangers of almost all manual tools in the kitchen. I was taught now to handle the knife, how to place the fingers when chopping and not to try to “catch” the knife with your foot if it happens to fall off the counter (among other things). Because of these warnings, I didn’t really have any serious accidents. Sure, I have cut myself; however, more often than not it was my fingernails that took that cut. However, if there was something “traumatic” that would be working with really sharp tools which meant that, if I cut myself, it will be a really clean cut and meant I might not notice it right away (not to mention the cuts will usually take longer to heal plus higher risk of infections due to me noticing I cut myself, etc. etc.). Now that I mention this… Time to sharpen my knives! 😀

  19. I was explaining to my husband how it is “safer” to use sharp kitchen knives instead of dull knives. I was explaining this as I was beginning to chop onions. With my recently sharpened knives. I made a lovely incision through my finger. The blood was dramatic. Michael was smug.

  20. It’s a dangerous job being Sharon’s sous-chef. She’s always turning around with a sharp knife in hand. Fortunately she hasn’t drawn blood yet, but I fear its only a matter of time!

  21. Tonight while preparing my lunch I had what I can recall as one of my first knife accidents. I was slicing a tomato and I happened to be thinking about this here contest, the knife slipped and cut through my nail! It drew a little blood but nothing to bad. Now the question I have is, if I wasn’t think about knife accidents would this have happened? Oh the power of thought 🙂

  22. I decided to cut open a glowstick after a few drinks. I held the knife in my left hand, and the glowstick in my right, with fingers wrapped around it and index finger along the length. I tried sawing it and the knife skipped on the hard plastic, cutting open my thumb and middle finger along their respective middle knuckles. I bled profusely and my middle finger is crooked as a result.

  23. I remember my mom showing me how to cut tomatoes one day when I was around 15 or 15. We were making salsa for the first time together. I guess I wasn’t paying attention for a moment and ended up sliching my index finger. Nothing too major but still a fair amount of blood, or so it seemed. My dad’s first comment? “did you get all the blood out if the tomatoes?”

  24. My traumatic knife story involves a cruel and unusual joke my father loved to play on me: the “I cut off my fingers/arm/leg” game! Needless to say, I inherited his sense of humor. At the dinner table one evening, my 5 year old brother (I would have been 11 at the time) was pretending to cut my arm with a plastic knife that he had. I would say “ouch! ouch!” he would laugh, and so it would continue. Well….I had decided that it would be funny to, the next time he pretended to cut my arm, put some ketchup on the “wound” and start screaming. Which I did. My brother ran from the room crying and my mother was NOT amused. I spent the next half hour trying to convince him that I didn’t, in fact, have a gaping wound on my arm.

    My father was told to “cut” it out with the “chopping off my limbs” jokes, as it was rubbing off on me, but I still find it funny to this day!

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