When I was sixteen, I worked at an all-you-can-eat buffet as the roast-beef carver. The restaurant manager taught me how to use a sharpening steel to give my carving knife a razor’s edge. I held the metal rod at an angle and then brought the knife down and across it. The blade sang as it came off. After a few strokes on one side, I would hone the other.
Once he was satisfied that I could keep my tool keen, the manager taught me to carve paper-thin slices of beef. I could cover half a customer’s plate with hardly any meat at all. If someone asked for more, I was to deliver a second handkerchief of beef. If the diner asked again, I was to tell him he was free to come back through the line later.
