You Can Teach An Old Dog New Tricks

I have a youthful spirit but and old soul. I am more attracted and connected with the old than with the new. I prefer budget antiques to IKEA, slow, home cooked meals over take out or frozen and my rotary phone over a cell. Knowing this, I am often slow to adopt new technology and when I do, fail to keep up with the never ending changes. My cell phone is mocked by all for not having a color screen, the ability to take pictures or work outside of southern Ontario. It’s a phone, it makes calls and sends text messages. That is all I need it to do.

My reluctance to go modern is also evident in my kitchen. I have an old silver spoon that was my great-grandfather’s stirring spoon. One edge is all worn down, that means my family has, over the years, slowly eaten about a quarter of a silver spoon. I think though, that it makes food taste better.

I also have two tiny wooden handled paring knifes. They are great, or so I think, for everything. From peeling fruits and vegetables to cutting up a Christmas turkey or easter ham. Having worked with them for so long, I know how to maneuver them to get the job done. Whenever I hand someone one of these wonders of the kitchen, I get a look that says “I asked for a knife, not a prison shank”.

Birthdays and Christmas’ have come and gone with offers from people to buy me a new set of knives. “Don’t waste your money” was my typical, staunch response. I don’t know what came over me the other day (actually I know EXACTLY what it was, Underpants Boy’s incessant nagging to get new kitchen knives) but before I knew it, that gorgeous metallic sound you hear pulling a knife from its block had me mesmerized at Williams- Sonoma.

Did I need the block? The bread knife? The meat cleaver? In a very short time my basket was overflowing with knives of ever size and shape. Realizing what my bill would look like, it all went back except for a block that came with four knives and a sharpening stone. I must admit that my culinary aspirations are more easily reached with my new tools and I fawn over them as if they were a baby, one that doesn’t cry and actually serves a purpose. They are never left soaking in the water, are dried right after a wash and carefully put back in their proper place.

I hate to admit it, but I was wrong. On this one at least.