The steel hones, the stone sharpens

Four separate conversations use the unglazed ring on the bottom of a ceramic mug as a stand-in for a stone, and the accounts split on it — two accounts in two conversations say it works as a temporary fix when nothing else is to hand, two accounts in two other conversations say it leaves a rough, uneven edge and scratches the mug, and that the money is better spent on a real sharpener; the decider these conversations give is whether you own a stone. On scissors, three conversations pass on the tip of cutting through folded aluminium foil, and one correction, from an account who sharpens scissors for a living, says foil rounds the two meeting edges and smooths a nick but does not sharpen, and can spoil a good pair over time — this page carries the correction, not the tip. On the steel itself: one account says a honing steel goes smooth after a few months and then feels like it does nothing, and asks whether it has worn out — asked in these conversations and not answered. One caution says a diamond-coated steel cuts metal, which makes it a sharpener wearing a steel’s name; one caution says the pull-through V-shaped sharpeners take off too much metal; one account says a cheap ceramic hone or a coated steel is all a gift-set knife needs, and the expensive stones are for expensive knives. Is sharpening on a stone easy? One exchange, one account each way: it is easy and you will not want to stop, against it is not, because holding the same angle on both sides takes real practice, and a second exchange of two accounts says the goal for a home kitchen is a working edge, not a perfect one, which is the easy version. What angle, which stone, how often — those are gaps in these conversations, and this page does not fill them either.

If it is glass, yes, in two separate conversations twice over, and in seven of the twelve contraindications these conversations carry: glass is harder than the steel, so the edge flattens against it, and the accounts add that it chips edges, that it is slippery under a knife, that the clacking is unpleasant, that a hot pan or a knock on a corner can shatter it, and one correction says tempered glass is durable on its face but breaks from its edges. One account says marble and granite worktops do the same thing; one account says the same of a bamboo board, because the glue that holds it together is hard; one caution says a ceramic knife on a glass board is two brittle things meeting. Two accounts keep a glass board for one job — kneading dough or chilling pastry — and one for display, and one account says they were sold as hygienic in the 1990s and 2000s and ruined knives. Wood or plastic is where the accounts argue, in two conversations each and in six disagreements, and this page does not settle it: wood is kinder to the edge and, several accounts say, its pores let bacteria die off, while others say a scored plastic board holds bacteria in its grooves — and one correction turns that on its head, saying the very study people cite for wood ends by recommending plastic for raw meat because it is easier to clean properly. What the accounts agree on is the maintenance: a wooden board needs oiling, rinsing rather than soaking, and no dishwasher, and one caution says the hygiene worry is real only for a board that is left wet and neglected; two conversations say plastic is the right answer if you will not commit to that, and one account adds that cheap plastic sheds into the food as it scores. One correction says a board that scratches under normal scraping is a poor board or a poor knife.

Three separate conversations say to flip the knife and push the food with the spine, and these conversations disagree with themselves about why, so this page carries the argument rather than the tip. The case for: one account says every chef they have worked beside does it, and two accounts say it is basic kitchen practice, safe for the fingers, and correcting someone who scrapes edge-up is normal. The case against, in one correction and three exchanges of roughly equal weight: pushing food is a small fraction of the force a chop puts on the edge, which is why scraping is not what dulls it, and the correction says pressing the edge into wood would smash it flat before sliding it would fold it — the edge folds from cutting, not from tidying. A chef of twenty-five years in one account calls the tip useless, and another account says a bench scraper does the job without flipping anything. One exchange of three accounts to three lands on the decider: if you hone as a habit, the wear from scraping is nothing, and if you do not, the tip is cheaper than the habit. Two cautions and two exchanges also carry the safety half: some accounts will not push food with the edge facing their body in case a hand slips, and others say that with a knife held properly, that slip is a very long chain of accidents. On chicken: one account and three in one exchange say kitchen shears are the right tool for joints and bones, not a sign of poor knife skills, and a knife on bone is the harder and less safe cut.