Confessions of a Short Order Cook

In a previous life, before I turned briefs into ads, I worked as a short order cook and turned hastily written waitress tickets into meals. It was a highly stressful job, mostly because people dining out generally don't want to wait too long for the food -- that's the whole purpose of dining out.

Turned out I had an aptitude for it. 

Developing a speedy rhythm that made other short oder cooks jealous. Spinning. Whirling. Dicing and Slicing. With a grace and fluid coordination I did not know I had. As my many karate instructors could tell you, that might have been true in a hot restaurant kitchen but it was never apparent on the dojo mats, where I sometimes found myself asking, "Which is my left fist and which is my right leg?"

One place I peddled my skills was a now defunct health club on Overland Ave. Not more than a 1/2 mile from where I live now, some 40 years later. 

It was beautiful expansive health club with a full size gym, 8 tennis courts, an olympic size pool and its own little cafe, where I worked for a young entrepreneurial New Jersey couple hoping to to turn a profit on their restaurant adventure.

Sadly that didn't work out and they had to shutter the place and send me packing. But before I left they gifted me the 10" chef's knife you see above. It was handcrafted for them as gift. 

I've had that knife as well as two fine Henkel chefs knives in my block ever since. But in my later years as a semi-successful ad man I spent less time cooking in the kitchen and more time cooking up screwball ideas for Creative Directors and clients to shit on.

My wife Deb ruled the kitchen. 

She loved to cook and was damn good at it. However she wasn't good with the knife and never sharpened the blades. To be honest, neither was I. The knives became dull and instead of cutting through a chicken, fish or rib eye roast, we found ourselves 'pushing' the knives through the meat like an iron splitting wedge through a log for firewood.

Occasionally, we took the knives into the local supermarket who offered free knife sharpening service. Those days are long gone. Then I defaulted to the Sharper Image and bought all kinds of useless knife sharpening devices with their "carbon-coated stones that would revitalize the forged metal to their original razor sharp sharpness." I'm a sucker for those video demonstration ads. 

"The knife cut right through a can!"

I don't know which algorithm picked it up, but the powers that be at Amazon or Facebook saw I was now a widow and starting clogging my feed with knife sharpening services. Figuring, and not without just cause, that I was confused and unable to deal with carrying on my life as an old bachelor living alone.

That would also explain the flurry of widow dating sites luring me with pictures of single older women who are looking for someone just like me. Only the pictures they display were of women in their 20's and 30's and I'm pretty sure they're not looking for a fat bald man with dull kitchen knives.

Able to remedy one situation but not the other, I signed up with Sharpenters. They sent me a well built custom designed cardboard envelope. I carefully placed my three knives in their protective sleeves, sent them off via the always dependable US Postal Service, and a week later they landed on my doorstep, sharper than they've ever been.

The blade in the picture above even had a small 1/8 inch divot in the blade, which they dutifully grinded out, leaving me with a rapier-like tool whose mettle would stand up to any Hattori Hanzo Sword.

I know it's one of the smaller joys in life -- which I've learned in the last 3 months are not to be ignored -- but I can't help looking forward to cracking open a Corona Light at the end of the day and smoothly cutting off the perfect wedge of lime with my new reborn knives. 

"It's like buttah."

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In case you're curious: https://www.sharpenters.com