#193

Things have been good with the new knife. It took its blood tax in the gentlest way possible, just the very tip piercing the fleshy part of the bottom segment of my left little finger in the part of an instant it took to flick my eyes over to another coworker as I was resetting my position. The knife is exacting, but cooperative and forgiving; we are an excellent match. I strive for these qualities professionally and personally. 

The knife's performance is nothing short of exceptional. I am a new man about the kitchen, with a new spring in my already hasty step and (I would not doubt) a manic glint in my eye as I render four quarts of parsley into dust and turn an onion into minute geometry in forty seconds flat. Slap a steer carcass on the table, hand me a cleaver for the bones and I would cross myself and confidently butcher that fucker and fillet you a lovely bunch of  smooth-cut steak. If you put me in a warehouse with a table, a wooden cutting board, a honing rod, and twenty tons of potatoes to cube, I would ask no questions and set to with a will, my knife lovingly in hand. A little boombox or radio would be a luxury.

*

That's all for now, folks! Try not to die out there, secure in the knowledge that it's gonna getcha one fine day.


--JL