Page 33 of Mistaken Impression

“It’s perfect, but where did you find it?”

“In this cupboard.” He peers inside the cabinet beside the refrigerator. “There’s another one just like it, and two slightly smaller ones.”

“And, of course, it makes perfect sense to put them all the way over there.”

“Like you said, it’s not logical.”

He comes back, bringing the pan with him, and puts it down on the countertop. “Okay… I think we’re ready.” He stands right beside me and I pick up my chef’s knife. “I’m not gonna bore you with the purposes and practicalities of every knife, but you need to understand the basics so you don’t pick up the wrong one during the recordings. Believe me, someone out there will know if you make a mistake, and probably write in.”

“They won’t write in… they’ll plaster it all over social media.”

“Exactly. So we can’t afford to slip up.”

He nods his head. “Okay, so what’s that knife?” he asks.

“It’s called a chef’s knife, and the clue is in the name. It’s the knife most chefs use for just about everything. The blade is slightly curved, so you can rock it while chopping, and because it’s heavy and has a thick heel, you can use it for grinding or mincing, too.”

“Heel?” He sounds confused already.

“Yes.” I hold out the knife, showing him the part of the blade furthest away from the tip. “Here, close to the handle, where the blade is at its widest.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll tell you about the other knives when we use them, but we’ll begin with preparing the onions.” I reach out for one, putting it onto the chopping board, root side up. “If you cut it in half,” I say, putting actions to my words and slicing through the onion from root to tip, “you can lay it flat and make it easier to cut. The root will hold it together while you’re working.”

“I’d love to say I know what you’re talking about, but okay.”

I turn the onion, so it’s flat-side down and cut off the top. “We’re gonna take off the outer layers and then quarter it.” He watches closely. “Then we can cut off the root.”

“Because its done its job?” he says.

“Yes. We’re leaving our vegetables chunky because it suits the timing of the recipe, but I’ll explain that to you later. For now, we’ll just focus on techniques. So, why don’t you do the next onion?”

I step aside and he picks up the chef’s knife from his own set. He’s holding it far too tight, and I step forward again, stopping him.

“You need to relax.”

“I’m holding a deadly weapon. I don’t feel very relaxed.”

“Then don’t think of it as a weapon. Think of it as an extension of your hand.”

He frowns at me and I pick up my own knife again, showing him how to hold it. He adjusts his grip, but still looks uncomfortable. This isn’t working, so I put down my knife and move closer to him, picking up his paring knife, which has a much smaller handle.

“Put that down for a second.” I nod toward his knife and he does as I say. “Now, come stand behind me.” He steps closer,and I feel the heat from his body. “P—Put your hand over mine.” I don’t know why I’m stuttering, but he leans in even closer still, his hand covering my own.

“Like that?” he says, his breath whispering against my cheek.

“Yes.”

“What now?”

“Just think about how gently you’re holding the handle of the knife.”

“But I’m not. I’m holding your hand.”

“Okay. Imagine my hand is the knife.”

“I don’t have that much imagination.”

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