All I Wanted Was a Nice Party. And Nice Knives.

 

Mr. Pihl and I hosted the pharmacy staff party last night.  Preparation for it went a little something like this:

Mr. Pihl watched his beloved Chiefs play in the living room while I watched my beloved Packers kick some Bears tushie on my laptop in the kitchen.

In the midst of being a faithful Packer fan, I was trying to multitask my way into party preparedness.


Plating the cookies...

They're such lovely cookies after all.  Except for the fact that I don't temper my chocolate and therefore am doomed forevermore to have scary looking German Spitzküchen.

 Side note:  I'm a major cookie snob.  My great-grandfather was an apprenticed baker in Germany in the early 1900's before immigrating here with his family.  Basically, we have the best cookies.  Amen.

One day I'll get my act together and post some of these recipes.

Today is not that day.

Today is not that day because I instead get to tell you what happened after I plated the cookies.

I decided that it would be a grand idea to cut things with very sharp knives.  In the process of cutting things with very sharp knives, I thought it would be a fun idea to get a little wacky and slice off a large portion of my thumb.

Okay, this wasn't really a decision as much as it was a total freak accident leading to me yelling a LOT, pacing around a LOT, and not using child-appropriate language, a LOT.

All of this happened 15 minutes before our guests were scheduled to arrive.

It was gnarly.  It bled a LOT.  And I'll save you the nausea by only telling you that:

1. I no longer have a rounded thumb tip.
2. I no longer have what people may consider a thumb print. Or a bit of my nail.
3. It was bad enough that it bled for ages, but not bad enough to seek professional medical attention.
4. I was the numbscull who asked for the super snazzy and super sharp knives on our wedding registry.

We quickly discovered that we did not own a First Aid kit and then proceeded to call Mr. Pihl's parents in a panic, asking that they bring supplies.

My mother-in-law is a saint.  And a nurse!

She patched me up.

And once the bleeding was under control I began to imbibe an adult beverage or three.  You know, just to help the night along.  Something to drown my embarrassment/pain/now-lacking-a-complete-thumb-related-sorrows in.

We made this stuff, and I didn't snap a picture of the beautiful punch in our beautiful beverage dispenser until the bleeding had stopped and Mr. Pihl would allow me to imbibe the beautiful punch.

And by then it was nearly gone.  It's scrumptious, I tell you.  Scrumptious.  

In the grand scheme of things, everyone got to the house safely and had a lovely time chatting, eating, and drinking.   And laughing.  And oohing and ahhing over "B."   She refrained from showing her true sassy colors, thank goodness.

I made this amazing cranberry cream cheese spread.  The gal who posted this goodness to the Internet is becoming one of my favorite people.  I highly encourage you to make it today.  It's spicy, sweet, and savory all rolled into one.

We also made Ree Drummond's Corn Chowder with Chiles, and oh my is it good.

For the sake of the party we stuck it in our trusty slow cooker after preparing it on the stove.  Due to the knife-meets-thumb incident relayed to you above, I was not of the mind to remember to snap pictures of the chowder in pretty bowls.  It's so tasty, I'm willing to ignore my inadequacies if you are.

We also served up my dad's spicy meatballs with andouille sausage.  They're perfect for football gatherings.  Once again, Amy + Wusthof knives = bad food photos.

Mr. Pihl whipped up his BBQ Chicken Pizza, which was a delicious hit.  He makes it on naan bread!

I know!  It stays chewy and yummy and oh-so-wonderful.  Especially when topped off with cilantro.

My sun rises and sets on bunches of cilantro.

Lastly, we set out the Swedish tea ring made by Mr. Pihl's lovely grandmother.  I love her.  She's such a sweet woman.

I love this tea ring.

And now I'm off to dream of the days gone by when I had two viable thumb prints.  But don't feel sorry for me.  After all, I'm the numbscull who wanted the super-sharp snazzy knives.

Sigh.

Dreamily yours,

Amy