How a Stint in the Army Led to Proficiency with a Paring Knife

I’ve spent a lot of time in restaurant kitchens over the years, using chef’s knives and mandolines and striving to do at least three things at once. The knife I’ve used the most is the first one I ever used professionally, and I just bought a new one a couple of weeks ago. If you’re going to cook, start with a good paring knife.

The paring knife is still the most neglected knife in the kitchen, and I’m guilty of not paying attention to it. My first official encounter with paring knives was in the summer of 1969, in Army training, and because of it paring knives bring me mixed memories. The transition to the Army wasn’t too difficult, but happened in only a week. A similar system is still in use -- a week of acclimatization with polite yelling and minimal training.

Transition camp seemed pretty nice to me; suddenly I had more clothes and shoes than I’d ever had before and I was making an amazing amount of money for just hanging around. Thinking that I’d make a good career decision, I decided one afternoon to take a short nap and laid down on my cot.

Apparently sergeants wait behind every door just in case someone does that, because seconds later one of them said, “You! I need somone for K.P.!” and within moments I was introduced to a paring knife and three hundred pounds of potatoes. I learned to my genuine surprise that I’d be doing this far longer than I expected, for at least twelve hours and possibly more.

Paring knife in hand, I stayed optimistic and did a pretty good job even though K.P. went on far longer than scheduled and put me back at the barracks in mid-morning, when everyone else was out training.

I had earned a good rest and laid down on my bunk to enjoy it, which caused another sergeant to magically appear and collect me for K.P. again. No amount of explaining could dissuade him, and I wound up once again with an infinite pile of potatoes and a selection of paring knives.

This time I knew a little about paring knives and I grabbed the good one before any of the other unfortunates with me came to their senses. A short blade with a hefty handle staves off fatigue, and a thin blade works much better than a thick beveled edge. No one relieved us after the first shift, so we worked two.

The mess sergeant felt sorry for us and gave us each an extra apple, which by that time I appreciated. At this point my memory blurs, but I believe there was a third incident because I recall being very insistent with a different sergeant that I’d already done this twice and I was tired. I think that really happened because he appeared to feel bad as he marched me to the mess hall, and that’s unusual in a sergeant.

It was an excellent introduction to the Army and to paring knives, about which I now know everything. I also learned another rule of survival -- after the last round of K.P. I fell asleep on a metal folding chair in the theater tent. Third time’s the charm.

Nowadays, I write stuff like this for OnlyKnives. A far cry from my Army days...