The deepest cut

Knives are pretty special to chefs, part of our armory, our samurai swords, our tools of trade, our old friends. They’ve been through many campaigns with us, chopped, shaped and carved food for Heads of state and visiting celebrities, for friends and favourite customers and all this without complaining. They require minimum attention but are incredibly versatile.
So versatile in fact that the biggest mistake you can ever make is to take a decent knife home to the domestic kitchen. Suddenly it’s common property - at work no-one dares touch another knife without first apologizing for being so presumptious as to expect you to momentarily loan them the knife in question. At home when I ask my wife why she is using my cook’s knife to hack through the acrylic packing straps around her new kitchen appliance the response is “ Because it’s sharp! Anyway don’t get excited, it’s only a knife.”
Only a knife, what does she mean only a knife? It’s the font from which flows all culinary creations – it peels, dices, juliennes, slices, minces, grinds, carves and shapes all manner of vegetables and fruits, it debones and portions meats, it scales and fillets fish. It’s been handcrafted, forged by a European master cutlerer working for a company which once made knives for all the Royal Courts, it’s perfectly balanced, flawlessly finished, incredibly sharp.
All these years it’s rested comfortably in the palm of my hand, a silent companion. Once or twice it has risen to nick me on the end of the fingernail or the outside of my middle finger but if I was perfectly honest it’s always been my fault, a temporary lapse in concentration or not following the knife drill rules. In the days before 9/11 it traveled the world with me without suspicion to culinary competitions and food promotions always within reach in the overhead stowage. This carbon steel buddy has been with me since college days, since before I even met Teresa – what does she mean it’s only a knife?