Blades

No, not Ruben Blades, although I’ve used his recipe for black beans for years now, I’m talking knife blades, specifically, kitchen knives. Walk into most kitchens and you’ll find cheap, flubbery, casper-milk-toast, Betty Crocker cutting utensils. Open a drawer to look for a strop or a water stone to fix the problem and you might as well be looking for Jimmy Hoffa. Even if you find something to hone the blades, chances are the knives are crap anyway.

People don’t care for their knives for the most part because they have bad foundation materials. Occasionally, I’ll go to someone’s kitchen and, way in the back of a drawer, I’ll come across an old, rusty, steel blade with a butter knife edge. I live for these times, sad to say. With just about 15 minutes on a sharpener and then a wet stone, I can make something like that slice a garlic clove into papery thin whisps ready for sizzling olive oil.

Good knives cost more than bad knives but they last longer so why not invest a little now for something that will last you all your life.

I cook with knives I’ve collected over the years. And while I don’t take care of them as I should, if one loses its edge due to misuse (my 7 year old cutting play dough on the sidewalk for example) all I have to do is pay the slightest attention to the edge with a sharpening stone and I’m back in business.

Sharp knives are safer than dull knives. That’s a fact, Jack. A dull, wandering blade, although dull, can still slice your finger open if it slips off your tomato. Sharp knives cut where you point them. They’re also faster.

Here’s what I have in the drawer: (i) a very nasty looking cleaver for god knows what; I’ve honestly never used the thing; (ii) several paring knives that I use any time I step into the kitchen it seems; (iii) two good chef’s knives, 8” and 10”; I tend to favor the 8” because of the weight; (iv) two very elegant Japanese knives – one paring, one boning – that I once used to shave with to win a bet. I keep the Japanese knives in the back, frankly, because I’m possessive and also they cost more than usual.

Don’t buy knives for people you like. It’s bad luck. Should anyone ever buy you a knife, give them a quarter and explain the curse to them. I once knew a man who accepted a pocket knife as a present and his house burned to the ground, his wife left him for another woman, there was a lunar eclipse, his dog bit him and a tree fell on his new Cadillac Escalade. OK, his dog didn’t bite him but some of it could have been true. Bottom line is, pay for your own knives.

Field Trip

While I wouldn’t normally walk around in shoes covered with oyster shells and beer, I made an exception this past weekend at the Wellfleet Oyster Fest in Cape Cod. My first visit to this festival rewarded me with an avalanche of fresh, glistening, cold, Wellfleet oysters and an unending supply of Buzzard Bay beer, live entertainment and crowds of brothers and sisters of the half shell.

This year, there was no rain, just cloudless, blue skies and fresh ocean breezes blowing over the festival. I watched a man shuck 24 oysters in 2 minutes, 3 seconds (before penalties – don’t ask); I saw dogs dressed as lobsters; and I was not surprised to have seen at least one baby dressed as an oyster.

And then there was the food. It goes without saying that the oysters in the half shell never ran out. But we also ate oyster stew, fried oysters, lobster rolls, Jamaican chicken, kettle corn, Italian pastries, hot apple cider and more. Mostly, though, we ate fresh-shucked oysters.

The going price was $12 a dozen and we made no excuses for downing plate after plate. First we tasted just the oysters, right from the shell, their salty-sweet liquor surrounding those plump morsels of ocean’s bounty. Then we squeezed just a flash of fresh lemon juice across the plate for a sweet, sour, briny combination of pleasure. Finally, we ate them with tangy, spicy cocktail sauce, washing down every other slurp with a gulp of Buzzards Bay’s excellent pilsner, lager or ale.

I’ve enjoyed oysters in the quiet of the night with Champaign. I had always thought that nothing could top that. I was wrong. Without a doubt, oysters taste just as good in the open air, surrounded by 20,000 of your closest friends, spilling beer on your shoes while dancing to live music.