I guess I’ll file that tidbit of information under my “Learned Something New” file. I mean, I had heard that boiling chicken broth was hot, but I had never actually experienced it. Oh, maybe a splatter had hit my arm in the past, but I have to say that the only way to truly comprehend just how hot boiling (not simmering!) chicken broth is is to completely submerge your hand, up to your forearm, into it. Then, I can attest, you will know.
The other thing I learned is that warped pots need to be thrown out. Because after they are warped, the cook might try to use said pot to make Spanish rice , which requires a tightly lidded pot and thus will try to force the lid onto the warped pot and could in turn learn, first hand (ha!), how hot boiling chicken broth is when the lid slips, goes flying onto the ground and the startled hand that was pressing down hard on the lid to force it on uses that left over energy to plunge its self into the boiling (not simmering!) broth.
Needless to say, I gulped ibuprofen like it was going out of style and, when John and I went out alone for a romantic dessert after the kids were in bed (grandma came over to babysit), I had to carry a huge plastic cup with me, filled with ice water, so that I could dunk my hand every minute or so to stave off the intense burning sensation that occurred whenever my hand wasn’t submerged in cold water or still wet from a recent submergence. That was definitely romantic.