Clumsy is My Middle Name

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I’ve always played sports.  Soccer all throughout childhood, including being on a team called the Purple People Eaters. We used to dance to the Macarena on the field whenever we won a match…don’t ask.

During high school, I played volleyball  and was planning on playing in college, but decided against it at the last minute.  You would think I would be semi-coordinated and not very accident-prone.  Not at all. In fact, my high school coach described me as the “fastest, most athletic-clumsy person she’d ever coached.”  Gee, thanks.

Yesterday was chock full of clumsy moments, particularly in the kitchen.  In fact, this whole month has been.  A couple weeks ago, I was baking my beloved “Oatmeal Breakfast Bread” (from Dorie Greenspan’s Baking—you can read about this great cookbook here) and did the following:

    1. Forgot to mix in the sugar (not a minor ingredient, people!) and got all the way to the point of putting the batter into the loaf pan before I realized.  I then had to pour it back into the mixing bowl and stir it in, resulting in a poorly textured (yet surprisingly, still delicious) bread.
    2. During the baking process, somehow knocked over an entire new and thus, full, bottle of extra-virgin olive oil on the countertop.  The glass immediately shattered and it took about 20 minutes/an entire roll of paper towels to clean the mess up.
    3. Earlier that day, I also dropped my parent’s thermal stainless steel coffee carafe on the kitchen floor.  You would think it would be safe from injury, but of course, the handle broke.  Luckily, this was fixed with Gorilla glue…

Luckily these types of accidents escaped me all throughout the recent trip to Montana, which was excellent considering I was riding horses every day on very narrow and steep trail rides without a helmet.  Apparently Westerners never ride with them.  Thank god I’m still alive.

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Yet, my natural-born clumsiness returned with a vengeance yesterday.  To be honest, it was more stupidity than clumsiness.   I was innocently trying to make a pancake with the rest of my Kodiak flapcake batter left in the fridge.  Added butter to my non-stick pan, picked up the spatula and immediately realized something was wrong.  The tip of the spatula was completely melted, as evident within the picture above.  I immediately got annoyed and wondered why my heat resistant spatula was melting on me…until I flipped it over and read the sprawling words “Caution: NOT HEAT RESISTANT.”  Spatula: 1, Laura: 0.

I then proceeded to spill half the leftover batter from the container onto the kitchen counter whilst trying to take a photo.

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Cut up my fresh farmer’s market nectarine, whose pit flew off the cutting board and glided with all it’s nice juiciness across the kitchen floor…

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After almost accidentally burning the butter in the pan, nearly over heating my maple syrup in the microwave…

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Grabbing Montana coffee (courtesy of the ranch) from my barely-glued-together coffee carafe…

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I finally had my finished product…

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Despite all the near-pancake death experiences, this breakfast was delicious.  Hey!  At least I can say I didn’t drop my camera in syrup or anything!

Do any of you guys have days in the kitchen where you are a complete klutz?  Any particularly bad stories?  Please share (and make me feel more normal…)!