OK, so I admit it… I, Aeffchen, am obsessed with my own kitchen knives. So obsessed that I’ve made myself things for breakfast in the last couple days that shouldn’t be made for breakfast, ever. Like the chicken soup I described in yesterday’s post. Granted, I have a cold, and the hot liquid with enough capsaicin to kill a normal human is terribly beneficial, but that’s hardly the point. No. The point, my friends, is that I spent 5 minutes this morning feverishly chopping veggies to put into said soup. And I picked the perfect knife for the job, my 17 cm. Santoku. After chopping, mincing, slicing, etc., I cleaned the knife reverently before steeling it. The reverence is what is still bugging me now. And the fact that I’m still mad at Terra Firma for leaving my knives dirty last weekend. She was on the way to a party, for chrissakes. And yet, this isn’t true stainless steel. It can rust. It can discolor. Seething rage, however, is hardly a proper response given the nature of the crime. Especially since the blades were all gooed up with avocado, which should’ve provided quite the slimy yet surprisingly fibrous barrier to rust.
In any case, I think it’s time to attempt opening the last chakra, and transcending obscene love for my cutlery. Really, naked lust should be saved for people with parts that won’t kill. Orpheus, for example. The knives are just tools. That’s all. Nothing more. Oh, who the hell am I kidding… I wish I could be reborn as Aeffchen, Wusthoff-Hands. Poor O. He has no idea what he’s dating! ;-)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment