I have spent years trying to clear my mind: Years ago when I married, scores of kind, loving, older people (read friends of my and my finance's parents) gifted us a new material start for our life together. Our parents threw a dramatic party (hers bearing the lion-share of that traditional cultural contract) with fancy clothes, heart-felt spechifying, excellent food, some live jazz, and a little dancing... In exchange—so goes the tradition—our guests offered expensive gifts, many of which have lasted a lifetime so far.Through the lens of a cultural anthropologist, it is a transfer of wealth from the older generation to the younger through intermediary participants which carries with it both blessing from the community and emotional indebtedness of the newly-weds to their supportive elders. Through the lens of a young man madly in love and feeling gratitude for all the blessings that were abundant, it is a show of support, love, and care that made for one of the best days of my entire and most fortuitous life. The smiles and care were so heartfelt; these people weren't there just because they were invited, but more so to celebrate a couple's new life together because they genuinely cared. I expected the day to feel hectic and stressful. It was the opposite; it was amazing!...
When I first moved from my parent's home to the Boston area, I just used what knives were available in the drawer; I had not really processed the role my tools played as I was just beginning to learn the craft of preparing food. A few years later, with my new life and my new knives, and my continued appreciation for all the blessings around me, I quickly moved forward in all things, and with my cooking as well; it wasn't long before I forgotten my old knives' inadequacy...
A dulled mind is a dangerous thing: And then not too long ago a tragedy befell my chef's knife, and it is now gone from its place on my chopping block. This blog entry is not the story of that knife; that is a story for another day... and know this, it is a story of accident and eventual loss that is worth telling some day. But my Wüsthof Chef knife's story is about what happened to it, not a story of its very nature as is the case of the best knives. The best stories may use "what happened" to move a plot along, but the heart of the story is in the "very nature" of subject. What happened is not as important as what "just is". Finding our way to that "is-ness" is like sharpening a well crafted piece of steel.The best knives have a story to tell that goes back to their very elemental components and their former lives. A knife made properly is forged, profiled, stamped, heat-treated, tested, ground, handled, finished, and sharpened. A knife made properly can split hairs if desired and shaves skin cleanly. A knife made well feels balanced in the hand and extends the function of the chef's intentions right down the arm, through the food, and on to the cutting board. The best knives are works or art, and more important than anything else, sharp...
I broke in my knife on some green peppers for a homemade pizza. I hoped to have paper thin slices completely coating the pie, rather than opting for diced chunks. All I could manage was forcefully hacked thick cuts. What a tragedy! I had forgotten what a knife like this felt like. I felt foolish for having forgotten. A dull knife is barely better than no knife at all! With regards to preparing food to stay alive, my $5 special is sufficient, but if I wish to cook, to make the distinction between mere sustenance and food pleasure, this new knife is abomination. Iron Chef, Masaharu Morimoto, writes "A kitchen without a knife is not a kitchen." My kitchen has thus been relegated to a food-preparation-for-sustenance-only zone. A dull knife made well can be sharpened again and again (hope), but a poorly made knife cannot be sharpened properly and will not hold an edge for more than a minute (despair). I think it is time to start shopping for a new knife...
No comments:
Post a Comment