Making the Cut: My first knife By Michele Roetzer
A cook’s knife is like a carpenter’s favorite hammer or a mechanic’s trusty wrench, held in the same regard as their most prized personal parts: a guy doesn’t touch another guy’s junk, and by no means do you ever touch his knife. Common kitchen protocol is to ask if you can use the knife before you grab for it, or you may find yourself becoming more closely acquainted with it than you ever wanted to be. If the answer is “yes,” you use it, clean it, and carefully and quickly return it to its owner. I began working in San Francisco Bay Area kitchens in 1983 at the age of 14, rolling pasta, washing dishes, and doing general prep work after school. I graduated to my first “white table cloth restaurant” three years later, after some bouncing around in various kitchens of varying degrees of quality. I got the job in the high-end, white tablecloth restaurant through my friend Michael with whom I worked in another kitchen. Michael taught me the basics of cutting in a professional kitchen, such as how to tuck my fingers into the kitchen “claw” position so as to avoid losing a fingertip in the arugula. After lots of practice and Band-Aids, I got faster and more comfortable with a knife in my hand. The restaurant had a knife service that used to come weekly to collect all the “house” knives to sharpen them. Only the new guys used the house knives; the rest had their own knives they carried to work each day in their knife rolls. A co-worker, Jesus, who trained me in the pantry station, encouraged me to get my own knives, as all serious cooks had their own set and could tell you the story of each knife. Soon after, I talked to the owner of the sharpening service and he showed me some samples and agreed to a payment plan on a set of Forschners, a German knife that is popular with butchers. I was so proud of my new woodenhandled set and the accompanying cloth roll that I unrolled it for anyone who would stand still long enough to watch, carrying them with pride as I boarded the BART going to and from work. I was now part of the band of the mostly Hispanic workers walking the streets in the morning and at night, carrying their prized tools. I added to my collection as the years passed and accumulated every cutting implement I would ever need. Part of being a knife owner is learning how to sharpen them; I learned to use a three-way stone and sharpened my knives until I could shave my arms with them. Another co-worker, Pete, used to edible Santa fe
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Winter 2011
photo by Johan Kalen
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