Knife Bifurcation
Self-indulgent Motivation
Among the traits I’ve spent the most thought pushing myself from an inborn place of excess and toward a harmonious sweet spot, are sociality (I have to work to be more social) and control-freak-ness (I have to work to care less about my things).
How I learned about the importance of social cohesion, and the role that face to face gatherings play in social cohesion, is (a) post(s) for another time.
Learning to relax my overactive conscientiousness can get parted out more neatly, and by the nature of the thing lends itself to ‘one weird trick’ hacks. I share this one on the off chance a stray reader might be benefited.
Why bifurcate knives?
I enjoy bringing friends together in my home. I value brainstorming time, relaxation, exploration, and I’m glad to be able to offer infrastructure where friends can sharpen each others’ faces1. When I’m hosting guests, I love cooking for them. When I’m hosting lots of guests for lots of days, it can be really nice when someone offers to handle a meal so I can brainstorm and banter away from the stove.
But they might dull my knives!
If I host friends less often because I don’t want them to mess up my knives, that’s bad. If I refuse offers of help so that I can enjoy non-cooking time with my friends, that’s bad. And if I let friends use my knives but then resent my friends when my knives get dull, that’s quite bad.
“I would simply not care if my knives get dull” is nice advice but hard to implement. But it turns out: you can have two sets of knives.
Engineering Controls: When You Want The Right Thing To Happen Without Conscious Thought
I have low-quality, dishwasher-safe knives from a thrift store in plain view, in a knife block on the sink windowsill. They’re in plain sight—if someone wants to open a block of cheese without interrupting me, they’re going to reach for a visible knife. Great! The visible knives get thrown in the dishwasher without a second thought.
I have good knives in a close cabinet—easy access, but not manifestly obvious.
When someone offers to make a meal and I’m pointing out “bowls, the sugar, the butter,” I will also ask “do you want the Quality knives or the Convenience knives—handwash or dishwasher?” People automatically easily sort themselves. It’s almost miraculous how well they sort themselves.2
Everyone’s Happier
Quality and Convenience are both good values. Having a separate knife set for each value set lets me relax and welcome guests into my kitchen. This lowers the activation energy of hosting, so I can host more often. And I have deeply appreciated each meal made for me in my kitchen. And all the moreso, now that I no longer worry about my knives.
This essay is part of an overarching series on rural tech and how it works.
Proverbs 27:17 Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.
People who value sharp, well-balanced knives expect to hand-wash them. Anyone who self-identifies as “hand-wash/Quality” already knows not to scrape with the blade, and I can trust my tools are in good hands. Those who self-identify as “Convenience” are happy to have knives the same as their kitchen, and are happy to not have me breathing down their necks. And I’m happy to not breathe down anybody’s neck, no matter which knife set they opt for.