A kitchen without a knife is not a kitchen. — Iron Chef Masaharu Morimoto
I just returned from a wonderful week’s visit with my son in The Land of the North.
Domer is fine, thanks for asking, and I expect he’ll be doing even better now that I’ve Pine-Solved a little problem for him.
You see, when Domer accepted this job and moved into an apartment, I bought a bunch of stuff to help him settle in.
And one of those things was a traditional chopping block filled with knives.
Turns out, an entire year later, the knives don’t cut.
And never have!
Domer, who didn’t do a lot of cooking while living at home or in college, thought that was the way they were supposed(!) to work.
Or so he told me.
But when I couldn’t even chop up carrots for Dallas’s dinner, I balked.
Sitting down at my computer, I wrote a nice letter to the knife manufacturer. I explained the situation, praised their high reputation for quality and a lifetime guarantee, and asked that they send him a replacement set.
One that works.
Domer got a big kick out of this.
‘It’ll never happen,’ he told me as we went to the post office to mail the knives back.
‘And while you’re at it, that guy will never box this up for you, either.’
Oh ye of little faith, I countered. Just watch and learn.
Something tells me the postal clerk didn’t hear too many Southern accents in his day-to-day work, for he was most obliging. And with the knives safely boxed and mailed, Domer looked at me with a glint in his eye and noted, ‘You turned that on pretty thick, you know.’
Whatever it takes. As long as we get a set of knives that will CUT, not saw!