Every home should have its trancheur, some member of the family who takes a real interest and pride in carving, for wherever good food is served someone has to carve. You can't get away from it. And as it is traditionally a man's job, I think that the education of young men in the home should be considered incomplete if it does not include this fine and ancient art. Boys should be taught by the father to handle the carving tools as soon as they are old enough to be interested, and the earlier the better.
When I was a boy at home I was eager to learn to carve, especially after I decided I wanted to train to be a chef. But, because I was left-handed, I was not permitted to even handle the knives. In France there was a kind of old-wives' tale that a left-handed person always cut himself when carving, and that was held against me. Of course, it isn't true, and we left-handers could say the same about right-handed people. As a matter of fact, it was because of this that I became ambidextrous, that being the easiest way to get around the problem,
I had one uncle sympathetic to my interest who gave me my first lessons. He was the uncle who had stayed at home with grandpère to run the farm and he was an excellent carver, perhaps because he knew the anatomy of birds and animals, but more likely because he took such great pride in his skill. There were many big dinners at which I saw him officiate, for there were always about twenty or twenty-five of our family gathered at grandpère's farm for holiday dinners. I always asked to sit next to my uncle, who would explain to me, as he cut into a bird or sliced a piece of meat, what he was doing and why. And usually he would whisper sly little jokes in my ear, like “Shall we give that sour-faced brother-in-law of mine a really tough piece?” or “I suppose you want to give the best of this bird to tante Catherine.” (Tante Catherine, then in her teens, being the youngest in that large family of aunts and uncles, was known to be my favorite.) Sitting next to him and taking an interest in carving had other advantages too, such as getting some pretty choice bits on my plate and being conveniently close for a second helping the minute I finished my first.
In the early days of the old New York Ritz all the carving was done in the dining room in front of the guests. Sometimes one of them would even ask to take over the knife: among the distinguished gourmets who frequented the Ri(z there were many expert carvers who were very proud of their skill. And that is as it should be—carving is indeed a skill to be proud of.
To really show off your skill as a trancheur there is nothing, I suppose, that quite does the trick like carving a bird (see November, 1954). Especially a big one with large breasts from which you can slice off slim, well-shaped pieces and establish your prowess. But don't forget that carving a ham or a leg of lamb is a real art too. Both are frequently cooked at home, yet how often we see them inexpertly hacked into unattractive pieces (to say nothing of the waste resulting from poorly carved meat), liven a steak, which is a simple job, is not always carved well. Hut it can be done so that there is hardly a scrap of meat left on the bone, the meat itself is evenly distributed and the plates immediately look more savory and appetizing.
In some homes the carving is done in the kitchen and arranged on a platter which is then brought to the table. The only advantage in this—except for saving embarrassment if the carver is awkward—is that you can have a big board to work on. But the advantages of carving in the dining room arc many. In the first place, your piece de resistance looks so much more important when it appears whole before your guests. Then the food itself is served with the heat of the oven still in it, each piece-obviously juicy and succulent. Finally, the host gets a chance to show off his hobby and has the pleasure of being rewarded by the admiration of his guests.
“A good workman is known by his tools,” I learned that also from' my uncle in my early years. Whether it was the scythe he used in the fields or the knives to carve a holiday goose, he gave them the same loving care. A good workman really loves his tools. He loves to run his fingers carefully over the edge of a cutting tool, feeling the smooth, firm line of the edge, searching for any small roughness that may have been left after the final run-over of the whetting stone or steel.
Pinterest
