Immediately, let’s talk about London knife sharping. Think about the image of the city in real bustle: steaming mugs of tea, red double-deckers, and never-ending hums of conversation; wrapped up in those historical streets, however, is a craft much more intricate and rewarding than a game of cricket on a Sunday afternoon. Knife sharpening is an art passed down through years of practice, technique, and a dash of creative flair.
Think of your favorite chef’s knife, the one which can make the onions dice into small squares, carving the meat with ease and poise, like a ballet dancer. Now, imagine the hands sharpening that blade-those hands, sharpeners, yet artisans who know all too well that a knife isn’t some sort of lump of metal with an edge, but it is a partner in the crime of culinary manner and the beacon of possible deliciousness. To treat it poorly? It would be more or less like forgetting the words of “London Calling” in a punk concert.
It is a city where there are as many enthusiasts of this art as there are teashops. Each has their style. The methods, at first glance, can be as fickle as London’s weather-unpredictive, yet interesting. Some sharpeners stay loyal to the old-school ways, using vintage stones with the tenderness of a painter and his favorite brush. Others dive into modernity, using state-of-the-art machines that hum softly, much like a London evening’s drizzle.
One day passed in this workshop of sharpening knives hardly differed from an orchestra, each noise playing its role in the performance. The soft whispers of expert conversations debating angles and pressures go on in reverential tones, as if Sunday sermon topics; steel on stone, sliding in rhythmic glides, sweet in melody. Throw in the odd exclamation-mark-fortune-ately, a holdover from that day when Steve, the most seasoned sharpener of them all, sliced up his apple with a knife sharper than a critic’s wit.