A while before leaving the nest for-ev-er, I had a nice French bistro night chez parents. I’ve never in my whole life made actual deep-fried french fries, so I figured, when could there be a better time to sloppily deep fry something when someone else will clean it up? Luckily for my mum, I wasn’t too much of a mess. Just a little bit of one. But the best part? They were awe-some. Completely crisp and delicious, and let’s just say, my matchstick handiwork with a knife wasn’t too shabby either. Who needs a mandolin when you’ve got ME in your kitchen? Throw in the fact that the last time I used a mandolin, I eschewed the cap holder bit and julienned my finger, leading to a call to the med student friend, “I can’t really see any bone.. just lots of muscle.. Should I go to the emergency room? I really don’t feel like it.. OK, just irrigate? Word, thanks.” Let’s just say I have a very high pain tolerance, but no tolerance for pain. Trivial human obstacles!