Knives

Having sharp knives was always a matter of pride for Kenji, and later on myself.  Kenji's favorite test was to slice a sheet of newspaper of paper towel in half with one of his newly sharpened blades.  As he got older, he had less inclination to go through the rigourous three stone sharpening that he always used to, and it made me happy to tsk disapprovingly at his dull knives and then sharpen them all for him.  The knife sharpness thing, despite causing a few accidents in the kitchen was something that we shared, and I was  happy to see the appreciation in his eyes when I showed him his yanagi (and occasionally deba) knives brought back to a mirror polish.  After coming home, I was dicing an onion for risotto when I noticed that my knives were in a  deplorable state: bruising the onion instead of slicing through it.  I stopped what I was doing, soaked all my stones and got to work sharpening.  I used the technique that Kenji had taught me many years ago, and a few new tricks that I had learned myself.  It was a bittersweet mix of happiness at the memory of our shared obsession and sadness.