Open Writing

I was born in Sheffield, England, in 1933; a time when that proud steel city was approaching its zenith as a producer of special steels. It was a world leader in alloy steels for knives and cutting tools, for armor plate and railroad rails, razor blades, and propellers for warships and ocean liners.

Its stainless steel was patented, and all licensees were required to stamp their products “Firth Stainless.” Its reputation for excellence attracted metallurgical geniuses the like of Henry Bessemer, Thomas Firth, John Brown, and Sir Robert Hadfield.

Sheffield was also known as a center for the manufacture of silver goods, and of silver plate; a sandwich made up of a central sheet of copper with outer sheets of silver. The silver trade came together with the steel industry in cutlery manufacture, which in contrast to the steel and silver plate was produced by very small businesses, none of which made the whole product. The business owners were known as “Little Mesters.”

All the men in my mother’s family were employed in steel making, and almost anyone I knew set great store by knife blades that could take a good edge when sharpened, and keep it. Every man carried a pocketknife, and many shaved with an open blade, “Cut throat” razor, which was lovingly sharpened on a leather strop. Knives were given as gifts that required the receiver to render a coin to the giver so as not to cut the friendship.

All the world’s sickles, scythes and machetes were made in Sheffield at that time, as were the Bowie knives invented by the legendary Jim Bowie, and the kukris wielded by the Gurkha soldiers from Nepal. British military swords were made by the Gillett Company in Sheffield, and even today, the best rigger’s knife for sailors still is made there. Clam and oyster knives also came from my hometown.

Most of Sheffield’s traditional industries are no more, supplanted by Japanese, Chinese and Korean companies. The steel plants have been demolished and replaced by shopping malls and sports complexes. The steelmakers of my mother’s family are long dead, but here I am, 78 years later, still obsessing about sharp knives.

America at large doesn’t share my obsession. The market is more concerned with knives that don’t rust and never need sharpening. A rustless knife blade contains so much nickel that sharpening it is impossible, and an electric carving knife yields none of the tactile satisfaction that a razor sharp steel blade can provide. Serrated knives are a favorite here, because supposedly they don’t need to be sharpened, but that’s a fallacy.

When I first set up home in America, I searched long and hard for some good kitchen knives, and finally found a company in Chicago that had a halfway decent set. When I came to replace the paring knife a few years later, I was dismayed to find that the company had closed.

There’s no shortage of overpriced, but good, German made kitchen knives in the US stores, but I just couldn’t persuade myself to go that route. I keep mine as sharp as my limited skills will allow, and take care to warn any American guests that venture into my kitchen. One lady in particular was quite alarmed at the keen edge of a knife she was using to slice a tomato, and complained angrily that it was dangerous to have such sharp knives!

For me, a part of the joy of cooking is to be able to do my food prep without having to use a lot of muscle to cut a cucumber. Sometimes, when I stay with friends, I offer to cook a meal to repay their hospitality. Almost immediately after they accept, I realize that once again I have fallen into the trap of having to use someone else’s blunt knives. Not only that but the chances are slim that they will have a knife sharpener.

Recently, I was able to watch a documentary on the making of the Japanese Samurai sword. Though many British and American troops who fought in the Pacific in World War II brought back what they believed to be genuine Samurai swords, they in fact were just a utilitarian version made for army officers.

The genuine traditional version is a small wonder of technical complexity and beauty, and it’s not surprising that they cost as much as they do. It was a treat and a revelation for me to see one being made, and to know that the skills and the pride I grew up with are still alive, even so remotely.

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