Covered in Blood and Onions

I stared at the massive bowl of chopped onions and chillies; the onions and chillies stared back at me. I donned my onion goggles, held my puny hand blender aloft like a weapon, and jammed it into the bowl.

What followed was an complete vegetable carnage.

The hand blender made a terrible strained scream, and a geiser jet of vapourised onion forced its way into the air like water from a whale's blowhole, followed by a horror movie-like spray of chilli-reddened onion gore in every conceivable direction. It was too late to stop. I had to continue.

Sanguine vegetable matter continued to fly at me as I gritted my teeth and carried on blending, the cut on my thumb from an earlier mishap with a broken food processor burning from the chilli juice, despite the plaster covering it.

And then suddenly, it was all over. In front of me was a bowl of wonderfully fragrant curry paste; on me was about a third of it. I calmly wiped myself off, sprayed on a bit of perfume to mask the smell of debauchery, and stepped out of the house with bits of onion still on my T-shirt.

How did I get here?

Last week I was bought a food processor as an early birthday gift. I've never owned one before but always wanted one, knowing the amount of amazing things I could do in the kitchen with one. Finally, I could now create almost anything from scratch!

Alas, it wasn't meant to be. A week on- today, this is- I unboxed it, cleaned all the parts up, and plugged it in to give it a test run. I was very disappointed when absolutely nothing happened.

After checking that I hadn't done something silly like forget to turn an extra button on or something, I traipsed down to the supermarket along with my mum who still had the receipt (thank God she's so organised) to get it replaced.

There was only one of the same model left, and it looked like it had already been opened. I insisted on checking the contents of it before taking it home- and as my mum and I were going through it, we both cut ourselves on the processor blade, which had been shoved haphazardly back into box my whoever the last person to handle it was. The blade was also embedded in the processor itself, making it, again, totally useless.

We settled for a refund, I promised to write a disgruntled letter to the supermarket's CS department about the dodgy way returned stock is handled, and we headed home empty-handed. A slightly annoying shame, since I was halfway through making a fancy curry, and needed a food processor to make the curry paste. I had already prepared my ingredients, and there was no way I was making anything less than what I'd planned all week to make.

So now you can see how my train of thoughts went, and how I ended up creating chaos in the kitchen with my too-small hand blender. In any case, I doggedly kept on, eventually got the meat happily marinading, and set off to my favourite shopping centre to invest in a more expensive but infinitely more reliable brand of food processor. A little absent-mindedly though: hence the bits of onion still stuck to me.

So. Now that I finally have my amazing machine, next time I hope to create magic in the kitchen instead of mayhem.

Oh, and the curry turned out absolutely amazing. I should bloody well think so too, after all of that.

~Fin~