Gather round, because it's time for The Lox Knife Story.
Sometimes the best gifts are the ones you give yourself.
Spoiler alert! In this case, I gave myself permission.
When we first conceived of Bottoms Up Bagels or, BUB - as it's known, lox was always a part of the picture. It was on the menu for our first event, and has been present ever since.
You would think it's a big enough deal to get the cure right. Ah, wait... it's time for one of my favorite, tasteless jokes. "At BUB, We found a cure... a cure for salmon." Woo, had to get that one out. If you've decided not to cancel me and keep listening, thanks.
Indeed, we got the curing process down, but part of the magic of lox is how it's sliced. And, in what was the grand playground pick in the business' history, I was chosen to slice ours.
Is the human doing the slicing as important as the knife they use to do it? That's more of a practical question than a zen koan. As the human who was doing our lox slicing, I can tell you that I knew to begin by buying more of a starter knife.
It had all the things I wanted - a granton edge (they look like dimples on the sides of the blade; and help keep food from clinging) and a not-too-flexible blade.
And so, that was the knife I used to learn how to slice - adjusting angle and pressure as I worked on fillet after fillet. My charge was simple: I knew that the flavor of the lox was there, I just needed to NOT mess up what made it truly magical - its thinness.
Four years and countless pounds in... wait. Hold up. I'm being told it was roughly 600 pounds. Damn. Okay, so four years and roughly 600 pounds in - and those are pounds being sold I should add; I was quite used to being watched and talked at during this delicate process. You know, like people asking for some slices, or asking me if I've ever used a "real" lox knife before, or general gawkers. Ah, the constant pelting experienced in a shared kitchen.
Back to process. I should explain that it's "delicate" because of the supple flesh (should we label this as adult content?), "delicate" because of the high value of the product, but also "delicate" because it's at a critical control point. I mean, take too long to slice it even at room temperature and it's game over for your guts.
It was after all of those hours of practice and execution that I asked myself - "Do I deserve a 'real' lox knife?" My answer was a resounding "Yes."
Know that I didn't ask myself that question until doing the damn thing for 4 years. 4 years! People buy themselves the fanciest equipment for a hobby... that they get bored of in a month... but nooooo, not me.
Even though I was doing it. We were selling it. Customers were loving it.
Could I have gotten a real lox knife - you know, the kind with the crazy-flexible blade - sooner? I think I was waiting for a mastery moment. And I needed a way to capture it. But, ultimately, I needed to be ready to give myself permission. To recognize the culinary professional I had become. I wasn't playing store, or deli, for that matter. And while the hospitality world would continue to question my place in it, it was up to me to claim my place... and to get that damn knife!
So, c'mon, get your lox knife (or equivalent)! And don't do it because I told you so.
This has been a mini-sode of The Proofing Stage podcast with me, Joan Kanner.