March 4, 2011: It may disturb many of you to hear this, but over the past 14 years the most remarkable series of circumstances has apparently coalesced and brings to light the shocking discovery of a very serious pot problem that I'm now facing.
It all started yesterday afternoon, when I was washing the dishes. We have this well-worn stainless steel 1.4 liter Dansk pot that's been in the family these past 14 years, serving us well, particularly for making glop (a dish that I created in the early 1980s) and for boiling water (as I don't allow a teapot in the house for reasons I'll have to explain another time).
Well, I was washing away with a kind of Buddhist fervor -- drawing my dirty blue sponge in a counter-clockwise motion about the supple rim of our Scandinavian cookware -- when all of a sudden a startling sharp cut ripped across my innocent left thumb, like a knife blade, or the biting words of an angry Scandinavian. For a moment I thought it might have been caused by the pot itself, but I didn't see how that was possible ... So, owing to my notorious inability to trust my own feelings (at least where physical pain is concerned) I chalked it up to some strange minor nerve damage due in large part to fluctuating water temperatures ...
But imagine my shock when, an hour later, I saw the gash across my traumatized thumb. It was a blade cut! There was no doubt about it. And I knew at once that it was this little Danish pot -- the one that had posed itself as a dear part of our family for so many years -- that was responsible.
Quickly -- for I have children, you see -- I found that pot, drying so innocently in the dish rack, like it was just another normal day -- and I wasted no time examining its rim. Imagine my further shock when I discovered that a section around the edge -- about four inches of that very rim -- had somehow been honed to a razor sharpness over these 14 years, and was now no less than a potentially deadly weapon.
I went to work immediately -- for I have children, you see, and also a terribly careless wife -- and got my hammer. (Actually, it's not my hammer, for it's borrowed, but for the purposes of this story, just accept it as mine.) I assumed that if a sharpening stone could shear a blade, why couldn't a hammer dull it, so I began pounding the pot ... but to little effect. In fact, I think I somehow made it sharper ...
Alert to the potential danger, I informed my son not to wash that pot anymore, and also made a mental note to warn for my daughter. I also phoned my wife, but she didn't pick up, so I got resentful and decided to just let her cut herself, but then I decided to be big about it and shared the story last evening. (She didn't have much of a response, but I suspect she took it seriously; who wouldn't, after all?!)
Since yesterday I've been contemplating just why the rim has been reduced to that razor sharpness on one side. The logical theory, of course, was that 14 years of boiling water in that pot -- in particular, pouring that water into cups and bowls -- slowly ate away that top edge of the pot, like running water would smooth a stone over time ... However, there's one little problem with that theory: everyone in my family is right-handed, and therefore always pours the water to the left of the handle ... but it's the edge on the right that has become sharp!
I'm not entirely sure what the next step will be. I want that pot out of this house immediately, but wife (for some disturbingly curious reason I can't yet deduce, and believe me, my suspicion grows!) insists that we wait and don't do anything hasty ... Interestingly, I'm beginning to realize she's always been attached to that particular pot ... Very attached!
Meanwhile, that Nordic pot sits still, silently, in my dishrack at this very moment ... purporting to be innocent ... stealthily secluded 'neath the seemingly benign clutter of ceramic saucers and glass ... and waiting ... waiting ...