Knives all have a handle and a blade, and at one end of the blade is the tip; at the other end is the heel. Unlike their hunting and combat cousins, kitchen knives have just one cutting edge whose size and shape is specific to the job they will perform. Paring knives for instance are small – just right for quickly trimming, peeling and . . . paring. Cook's knives are triangular with a pronounced heel that is perfect for the continuous up-and-down action of dicing and chopping. Boning knifes are long and pointed - all tip and no heel – as the tip is doing most of the cutting. There's a multitude of knives, but with a medium sized cook's knife and a parer you can do just about anything. Of course the more specialized the knife, the faster a process can be performed.
Cooks keep their knives in a polyester or canvas wrap called a wallet. Like tradesmen with power tools and musicians with instruments, they are most reluctant to lend them. They can get very attached to their knives, sometimes keeping them until there's barely a blade left. It’s amusing to what see started out as a twenty four centimetre long boning knife ending up as a titchy six centimetre blade sprouting from the handle.
Knives in kitchens come with rules. Keep them sharp. They work better and are safer to use as they are less likely to skid off the food being cut. From experience I've found pumpkins, with their shiny hard surfaces, the most dangerous things to cut. Bagels are tricky bastards too. Only use knives for cutting food. I once foolishly tried to loosen up a drum of compacted flour with a boning knife. The tip broke off. Not only had I ruined an eighty dollar knife but now I had sift the flour as well. Always keep knives visible, preferably on or next to the chopping board. Don't hide them under prep-lists, tea-towels and plates. Wash them yourself, then pop them back in the wallet. Leaving knives amongst the rubble of the wash-up, or in a full sink, for the dish pig to bloodily discover is akin to assault. Always cut away from yourself and keep that skin-splitting point facing down. Like firearms, don't point knives at anyone, even as a joke – unless you really intend to kill them. Any cook or chef who throws their knife onto benches, or near work-mates should be stripped naked, hosed down and locked in the walk-in freezer for an hour.
Sometimes your knife may accidentally fall to the floor. Like playing the cue-ball right off the pool table and into someone's drink, this will be a moment of shame. With luck the knife will miss human flesh and not break its point. As the mishap unfolds hopefully common sense triumphs over reflexes and you don't grab the falling knife, as I once saw a kitchen hand do. The heavy wood-handled cook's knife split the lad's palm open as he expertly caught it mid-air. He got stitches and we got all the washing up.
Ideally, knives can be left at work, on the bench or in a personal locker or drawer, as carrying them to and from work can be disturbing for non-industry civilians. I sat at a tram stop one morning and began rummaging in my bag. Somehow a knife found freedom, spilling out of my wallet to tinkle loudly onto the sidewalk. My fellow commuters stared in shock, no doubt thinking I was some psycho yo-yo out for my morning murder. With a friendly flourish I showed them my whisks and measuring spoons and everybody relaxed.
On another occasion, after work in a crowded pub in London's Covent Garden, I left my bag against a wall while I went to the gents. Upon return it was gone and my friends had no clue as to its whereabouts. I asked the barman and he angrily pointed to a sign warning patrons not to leave bags unattended due to IRA terrorist bomb attacks. Yes he had my bag and he'd called the police. What, why? I spluttered. Because of the knives! I persuaded him to check out the dirty chef's jacket and apron that were also in my bag. With much irritation he chucked it back to me.
After spending something like fifty thousand hours of my life holding them, knives have become an unconscious appendage, an automatic extension of my will in the kitchen. Like with a long time biker or veteran musician I guess, the means to the end - the motorbike or musical instrument – becomes insignificant. The physical object has dissolved into pure action.
Still, knives are lovely things. I love the comforting weight of cold steel, how the grip fills my hand as I project my intent onto even the smallest ingredients. I love their unmistakable look, their very purpose inherent in their design, redolent of precision, speed and movement. Knives must be one of the most recognizable objects in human history, and are as useful and popular today as they've ever been. They're still cutting-edge technology.
I reckon kitchen knives are full of magic. These seemingly mundane and inanimate objects resting quietly in your knife block or second kitchen drawer are actually tools of pleasure. They are wands for conjuring up good tucker, instruments of delight that turn the mental construct of a menu item or recipe into delicious reality.
