Cutting Edge

I told my husband if he didn’t sharpen the knives I’d cut his heart out with them. This is a gruesome threat considering how dull those knives are. I was mutilating healthy fresh vegetables with dull blades, juicing more than I was dicing. He gave me a chopper chopper thing instead.

It’s not a Cuisinart that you plug in (I’m not allowed with power tools) and it’s not the nice little housewifely thing with the alligator jaws that give you the ease of leverage against the hardest of carrots. No. I didn’t get that one. This is a man’s invention, a big, strong, mean, angry man, one who likes to pound his fists against frustration, the kind of guy who’d kill for a vegetable stew. You press down hard with quick, deliberate jabs. It’s like jack-hammering by hand, and just that loud. You have to strike with such force as would bring Annie back to life.

It’s a simple, ingenious mechanical design. A zigzag of blades comes down each time you strike the top, and the zigzag changes direction when you let up, ready to come down at a new angle. Not easy to clean, probably meant for a mechanized dishwasher rather than our Amish technique. But this device does achieve the critical increase of surface area exposed; thereby, maximizing flavor output for any given material you’re working with. If I ever do off my husband, I’ll use it to disseminate the body.