It's not telling lies that hurts the tip of your tongue...

I’ve had a sore tongue for two and a half days now – in fact it could have been that that kept me awake Wednesday night. I did not, however, get it from telling lies in fact the source of my pain is being a good wife. Now you may have gathered that I like to cook – I do and I’m allowed to do it often. I also like to wash pots but I’m more or less banned from this activity – apparently I don’t do it well. I do try, and as I’m always pointing out to Rob, if there is food left on the plates at least it’s clean food. Rob doesn’t like it this way.

Since I’ve been working from home I have, on literary dry days (I don’t get writer’s block but I do have days when I write less) tried to surprise Rob by doing the pots before he comes home (we never wash up after dinner – that’s a time for relaxation and wine). He then comes in, inspects the glasses and, more often than not, fills the sink and rewashes everything. I’ve more or less stopped surprising him now. But I do try to ease his workload which is what I was doing on Wednesday when I burnt my tongue.

Although I’m not a bad chef, I am apparently a messy one with a proclivity for using every pot and utensil in our house – I’m particularly big on spoons, tasting a sauce then immediately putting the spoon in the wash only to get a clean one out when I want to taste it again five minutes later. So, as Rob works hard and then has to return to do the dishes I have decided to make a big effort not to mess up too much. Ultimately this was to be the cause of much agony Wednesday.

I was busily whisking a nice little sauce that we serve with steak when we want to remember our days in France. It’s basically tons of oil, some Dijon mustard, a chopped shallot and some soft green peppercorns (kept in brine, not dried) and maybe a hint of sherry vinegar if I feel like it, all cooked off in a little pan on the hob. To make decisions such as the sherry one I have to taste the sauce and, not wanting to use a surplus spoon, I had the great idea of tasting it directly off my whisk - my metal balloon whisk which I had just been using to whisk my hot sauce. Do you see the problem? No? Good – neither did I. Whilst Rob was busy seeing to two lovely steaks I opened my mouth, stuck out my tongue and licked the sauce off the end of the whisk.

Whisks that have been used to bring oily sauces to near boiling point get hot.

The pain was great and there was a sensation similar to when you lick the freezer but this time my tongue was sticking to the hot metal. Far worse than the pain was my instant realisation of how foolish I had been. (I wouldn’t mind but I’m working on a Sci-fi novel at the moment, surely I should be aware of the physics of conduction?) Now normally when I hurt myself I throw myself on the floor in agony and writhe about for a few minutes until I’ve established whether it really hurt or not. This time I did not – I knew it hurt but I absolutely did not want to let Rob know what I’d done.

So I’m writing it here instead. Please don’t tell him.