Last Night's Dinner

Last night, Edan and I made Fettuccine with Lemon, Hot Peppers and Pecorino Romano, from the Mario Batali cookbook (There really are no stinkers in the Mario Batali cookbook, incidentally). I'm here not to tell you how this meal tasted (It was good; not as spicy as the ingredients would suggest, but good nonetheless), but to serve as cautionary tale.

Since both of us were home in time to work on dinner, we decided to divide the labor between us. Edan chopped the red onion necessary for the dish, while I sliced and seeded the jalapeños. After finishing the onion, the phone rang, and Edan answered it. Meanwhile, I finished up the peppers and put on the water for the fettuccine. Maybe because I filled a pot with water, I suddenly needed to urinate. Badly. So I rinsed my hands off and took a piss. Relieved, I washed my hands and went back to work in the kitchen, sauteeing the red onions and chili flakes in olive oil. After a few moments, I began to feel an odd sensation. My penis began to burn ever so slightly. At first, I thought someone must've been talking about it (You really thought I'd let an opportunity to use the greatest Gary Shandling line of all time pass by?), but didn't stop. In fact, it got much more intense. As Ron Burgundy would say, "It was such a deep burn." I commenced a sped-up version of the pee-pee dance, clutching my groin and hopping up and down. Finally, I had to return to the bathroom and thoroughly wash my genitals. At last. Relief.

Why do I share this embarrassing story with you? So that others may learn from my mistakes. If you're working with jalapeños, wash your hands. With turpentine. For once, you're all happy there are no photos.