The Steel

Today I was cutting a pineapple and my knife blade was so dull that it took the pressure of two of my hands to bring the blade down.  Now some of that might have been arthritis, but not all. 

I have also been reorganizing cupboards and came across a small steel, 1 x 2 by 6 inch gunmetal gray block like the one I used to see my dad used.

“Does using a steel really have to be a man’s job?”, I thought, after looking around the house for man who could sharpen my knife and finding none.

I took the steel block down from the cupboard and brought it over to the table, with a few drops of water in a small bowl and tried to bring up those old memories of him making small circular motions, trying to get the same grating sound that I used to hear when he would sharpen the knives and the same 45 degree angle on the knife.  I remembered that when he didn’t have enough water, he would just spit on the steel, but having brought enough water, I didn’t have to default to that practise.

When he was finished he would say, “Look, it is so sharp I can cut the hairs on my arm”.  Then he would deftly bring the blade across some black hair that was standing upright on his forearm. 

Alternately, I can see him testing its sharpness by slicing a piece of paper and while I can remember the sound of the tear, the action was not quite as interesting.

I tested my work by going back to the pineapple.  The rows of pineapple eyes now came out like a dream.

David tries pose of Henkel Twins on knife

“Bonnie, I am going to teach you a heritage family skill from the past, if you have five minutes”, I said. 

She and David sat down to take a try sharpening another knife, given that if one knife is dull, there are others around it that are duller.

The only time I felt a little fear is when I saw the vigour with which she tried to test the knife’s sharpness by running the blade of it up and down her forearm to see if she could take a stray hair off. 

No visible hairs fell. No blood was drawn, either.

Arta