Onions
My knife never sings but hums instead when withdrawn from its block, a metallic whisper so modest only the wielder may hear it. Or perhaps the dog, who seems to enjoy the kitchen nearly as much as I. A Japanese blade, it’s a joy to hold, perfectly balanced, stainless steel-molybdenum alloy, blade and handle of one piece, bright, untarnished, and so sharp as to slide through, rather than awkwardly rupture and divide, its next task on the board.
We’ve never counted the chopped and rendered onions, the fine dice, slender rings and discarded skins, but if we could gather all the corpses we’ve produced together over the years, we’d form a monument to our work, cooperation of metal and man, a Waterloo mound in memory of the bulbs laid there, the planning involved, the missteps and serendipity, and the tears shed along the way.
The blade doesn’t care. It is. It works. It moves things, it lifts, it parts them, and in return is cleansed, and later, in the quiet room, maintains its edge with a silvery rasp, angled steel on steel in a circular motion, over and over, until finally it hums its way back into the block. But it never sings.
I love a good knife. The cook sings in my household.
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There’s nothing like a good tool for the job at hand!
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You really should teach it the lyrics.
“so sharp as to slide through, rather than awkwardly rupture and divide”
This description is so perfect. I even squint a bit at awkwardly in case the veggies spurts when it ruptures. You have a marvellous way with words.
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Some veggies still manage to spurt. Last weekend a jalapeno squirted juice into my right eye, which was a tad unpleasant. But I got my revenge – I ate it.
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Nicely written 🙂
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Thank you. I credit the knife.
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slicing words as beautiful as that knife…
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Thank you!
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very nice, robert.
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Thanks, John. Now I’m getting hungry. Might have to dice some onions…
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of course. we just finished dicing up some shallots for a tartar sauce for dinner.
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I’m leaning towards green onions and ginger, as I’ve a hankering for gyoza (pot stickers).
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I love the way you wrote this 🙂
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Thank you. Onions inspire me. As do good knives. 🙂
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Evidently 🙂
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Beautiful! I wonder what an ode to my Wusthofs would look like…maybe more Wagnerian? 🙂
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Ooh, yes. I’m not sure what weird blend of music my knife would like. Perhaps electric slide samisen? Accompanied by a banjo, of course.
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YES! I don’t know the single word that means “beyond excellent,” but I do know a poem that does! Superb, Bob!
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Aw, shucks. Thank you, Ron.
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Most excellent!
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Thank you.
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Hi Robert – Only you could take a task and make it so poetically beautiful! This piece also tells me you have fun in your work. 🙂
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Thank you, Kelly. I’ve found the ritual of cooking to be very peaceful, soothing even. I’m sure I’d find it less so if I did it for a living.
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I admire that you see it that way. If everyone could see the mundane tasks of every day living through your eyes, they wouldn’t seem so mundane would they? It really is just a choice. I will think of you now when I go to chop onions for the next meal I make 🙂
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I confess that I also enjoy washing dishes by hand. I have heard it said about me that “there’s something not quite right about that boy.” 🙂
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Robert, only you could transform a mundane kitchen chore into a Zen-like aesthetic experience. Thank you for the dinner idea, too..I love gyoza.
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I take pleasure in the orderly process as well as the end result (that is if I cook the dish properly).
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The gyoza was quite tasty, if I say so myself. Served it with steamed rice (of course) and celery braised in sake, mirin and soy sauce.
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Beautifully written, with an intriguing theme. Onions are a must in all cooking – and to have a excellent knife that whispers and sings, happy in its work, makes chopping the onions such a pleasure.
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Onions are definitely a must in my household!
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i love how you write about small things like onions and the knife. but you’re completely capable of making it sound beautiful. after all, they said the best pieces are those written because resonanced small things.
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The small things are often overlooked, but they’re equally compelling to me.
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Wislava Szymborska has a great little poem about onions!
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Oh, yes.
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This begs to be recited. I can actually hear it read out loud and I love it. Thanks for sharing.
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What are you waiting for? Read it out loud! And thank you. 🙂
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Don’t worry. . . I did. It just strangely seemed as though you were having a poetry slam and you wrote the words down just as you spoke them. The words flowed. I don’t always get that from other peoples writing. It was great.
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I wish I could write that way, but my words seldom flow. Alas, they squeeze out a few at a time and then I attempt to put them together.
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Yum.
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This poem sings to me!
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That knife and those onions!
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I think the onions scream to me!
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Mellifluous screams, no doubt, but a bit pungent.
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this piece is so good and so familiar, I dug this up from 2007:
thirty minutes from here
first I will select the blade
the one I will use to split the wood
becoming familiar with its
curves and weight
gloved hands caressing
the long-handled axe
lean and fine-grained
ready to perform mayhem
with each brutal and smooth downward
acceleration of bone-splitting intent
I will grind the edge slowly over
many minutes whetting the steel
contemplating the next victim
squeezing life out of a small death
imagining no argument
no twisted logic nor misguided
traction of ideas surviving
the speed and purpose
of its promised course.
I can do it this way or that way
again and again snapping
the silence with a sharp
exhale of distraction
from yesterday’s small murders
propping up the imperceptible advancing
failings of this body
with the wisdom of age
lasting longer than I thought possible
negotiating with a sunset
the sweat and the fatigue
the honing of deliberate guidance
hands poised overhead at the
transition of momentum
used more to soothing
than to parting the hair
of next year’s heat
the sun sinking below the ridge
its last brilliance splayed
through the fruit trees
and this hill
this tiny ranch of solitude
where the last remnants
of dry thought are splintered
into vapor
the Eightfold Path
leads day by day
to a stacked cord drying
against the shed
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Universal truths!
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I always see poetry (and prose) as magnifying the detail in a single moment. Your piece really embodies that perspective…or so I read it. Either way, the wording is simply eloquent.
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A celebration of the commonplace. Thank you.
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This is wonderful and reminds me why cooking is my preferred way out of language-driven thought. Thanks!
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It is mine, as well. You’re very welcome, and thanks for stopping by.
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My chin was cupped in my two hands, elbows resting on the table, as I read this piece from my screen. As I read the last word my lips let out my breath in a single exhalation, my chin dipped, dropped in fact, as my shoulders released all tension and relaxed and the corners of my mouth sprang upwards into a smile.
I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. The chef in me understood and anticipated every word and the pastry chef in me acknowledged that my poor knives deserved to be treated with more respect.
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I’m so pleased at your reaction. What more could a writer want? And you’ve reminded me that I need to sharpen my knives! Thank you.
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Very well written, followed
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Thank you!
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Reblogged this on A Breathtakingly Boring Blog.
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Thanks very much for reblogging!
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When I chop onions, my knife (not so sharp) sings for me. 😛
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I hum along with mine, but it prefers to solo.
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And when it accidentally chops my finger, it’s melody sounds harsh to the ears.
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