Recent challenges have led to a new outlook on cutlery usage, but as chef Alex Rushmer explains, there’s joy to be found in a hands-on approach
There was a short period of time when I was concerned that I’d forgotten how to use a knife.
Obviously, I’m more than au fait with a chef’s knife, plus the many other blades we need to navigate our way through a day of prep in the restaurant kitchen – from tiny turning knives used to remove skin from shallots, to the serrated pastry knives that hack through the thick skin of a pumpkin, or slice thick slabs of oily, bubbly focaccia. My calloused palms and fingers are testament to a working week spent in control of a blade.
Instead, it was the far more common dining knife that was becoming a mystery. In fact, it was essentially non-existent. For well over a year and a half, as I worked my way through lockdown after lockdown, our meals at home took on a far less gastronomic tone – and became increasingly about transporting food to face. The kitchen table had become an office and dumping ground for bags, books, computers, unopened post, and newspapers bought with good intentions and overly optimistic estimates of free time. Consequently, the majority of our meals were consumed sat, not on the stiff, straight-backed dining chairs that surround the table, but within the squishy embrace of the sofa. We faced not each other, but the two-dimensional fictions of whichever box set we were burning our way through.
The kitchen table had become an office and dumping ground for bags, books, computers, unopened post, and newspapers bought with good intentions and overly optimistic estimates of free time
I don’t know whether the knife faded from use because it isn’t easy to wield from the confines of half a dozen cushions, and the food (comforting, stodgy, shovelable) followed suit, or if it was the other way round. Lack of form following lack of function, or vice versa. Either way, it doesn’t really matter – we devolved into fork-wielding sofa-scoffers and the knives never bothered the dishwasher.
Along with other norms we will have to re-learn (maintaining polite conversation for more than a minute, attending meetings, saying ‘yes’ to social engagements when what we really want to say is: ‘I’d rather spend the evening watching Nigel Farage on GB News’), the two-handed approach to cutlery should segue back into our day-to-day existence quite easily.
If we want it to, that is. Instead, I’m tempted to adopt a more tactile and natural method for transporting the goods on my plate to the hole in my face by ditching the fork as well, and simply using my (meticulously washed) hands. Think this sounds radical? It isn’t. If you’re reading this over your lunch, there’s a fair chance you may already have a sandwich in your hand. If not, I’m certain you’ve delved into a bag of chips with greasy, salt-dappled fingers, or munched down a bacon buttie or two. On a global scale, knife and fork users are hugely outnumbered by those who rely on the cutlery given to them by Mother Nature (1.5 billion against pretty much the rest of the world, apart from the billion or so who use chopsticks). There are numerous ingenious solutions for getting round the issue of sauce-based dishes and stews – many involving an excuse to eat some sort of (flat)bread with every meal.
I was reminded of the joy of eating with your hands a few Sundays ago, when we resorted to an old stand-by of roast chicken with lettuce, crusty bread and mayonnaise. There may have also been butter involved. As tempting as it is to tear into a hot chicken, fresh from the oven, patience is rewarded and a rest is essential. As well as redistributing the juices, it renders it a far more pleasant eating temperature – perfect for tucking into with eager fingers, placing haphazardly into warm bread and topping with dollops of mayo and fresh green leaves. There’s no way it would taste better from a plate, cut into neat morsels. Were we sat at the table? No, of course not. But these days, who is?
