Wounded Beauty

Have you ever had to care for something that needed your help, but that scared you to even touch it? 

Back in 2001, in Minneapolis, a woman sat down on the retaining wall in front of my apartment building sobbing.  I had never seen her before.  No one from my neighborhood, she was clearly hurting and had no place to go with it but the public sidewalk.  I was coming down the stairs to get on my bicycle, and I felt moved to do something.  Or rather, I became rooted in place, unable to walk past her and go about my business.  I sat down on the wall a few feet from her, gathered up my courage, trying to think of a response to her unknown grief.  Eventually, I moved closer to her, said hello, and put my hand on hers where it rested on the stone.  She looked at me, apologetically, ashamed maybe of being in such a state.  It was hard to look at each other, but she gripped my hand and then it was easy to just say reassuring things. 

"You're not alone.  You can survive.  Do you have somewhere to sleep?  Do you have anyone to talk to?"
She nodded, couldn't speak yet but nodded clearly.  After a few minutes, we had one more mutual hand-squeeze and I got up, unlocked my bike, and went to work.


What reminded me of that encounter was the weird thrill of a situation that arose last week.  Luckily, in this case, the wounded beauty that came to me was merely a knife.

My wife brought home a Shun Edo Santoku knife as a gift for me. It was a former display model in a line that has been phased out. Years earlier, she had won a paring knife in the same line which immediately took the place of sharpest knife in our block. With its weird high-brightness alloy, artisanal hammered blade, and barely visible edge, it has loomed in my imagination ever since as a sort of alien artifact of fearsome power.  I'm still talking about a paring knife here, people!  

Well, to hold the same design made large and heavy enough to cleave a pumpkin was a thrill. If you don't know me, let me say I'm not a novice.  I don't use fancy tools, but I count on the ones I own to work forever.  At my job I saw apart dead hogs with a band saw and use an extra-wide 10" hunk of German steel to mince chives. That's just what any professional cook does, and expensive beautiful knives are unnecessary to most professionals who turn out great work with rented hatchets.  I don't scoff at great knives, but I've always regarded the Skills as being superior to the Tools.

That said, these Edo knives have something wild about them. 

My thrill of being given one to use for my very own tempered when I saw the chunks missing from the edge. "Where it was banged against the magnetic display rack," my wife said, saddened as she realized the perfect gift had imperfections. 

Well, what to do?

Man up to the task and bring it back to health!

I soaked my water-stone and folded some laundry to calm my nerves. I have experience maintaining edges on my knives, but have never had to refurbish one, especially not one made out of this VG10 Martian steel.  

I taped up the blade to keep scratching to a minimum.

Attached a little binder clip to position the blade at an approximate 16 degree angle against the stone. (I removed it before beginning as it would wear grooves in my stone.) 

I picked up this tip here:http://video.about.com/culinaryarts/Sharpen-Knives-With-a-Whetston.htm 

Gave it 10 strokes per side over and over for about half an hour, concentrating only on that task. (800 grit.)

When the chips were 95% worn away by a clean new edge, I gave the blade 10 stokes per side on the 4000 grit side, which feels like satin and polishes the edge to keep it from "fraying" during use.

Not bad.  A few scratches on the blade, but then again, it's going to be a working knife.  

Holy Toledo!  Sharp!

I'm about to bring it into service at work, and I'll let you know how it goes.  Courage!