Hand Wash Only

I take up my blade, so comfortable to me, a natural extension of my hand. It’s a weapon of utility, not flashy. No status symbol here. Made of a single solid piece of steel it always feels warm in my palm. Smooth contours and seamless construction allow my fingers curve to grip firmly. I must not lose control. Wielding my blade carefully, I try not to make a mess. This is not for the faint of heart. The blade flies, the rhythm oddly soothing to me. Speed and precision are my goals. I watch, almost detached from the movement, as my wrist moves, directing the blade. Flesh and bone separated so easily, too easily perhaps.

I complete my task and lovingly wash the still sharp edge clean. Wiping it down carefully before it’s sheathed until its next use.

Nothing breaks down a bone-in roast like my 16cm Global G-21 and if I find it in the dishwasher again, I’m going to find out how well it works on human flesh.

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