切菜的藝術(shù)

“ You have to modernize，”Eugene Shewchuk， my friend and the owner of Messis， a well-loved neighbourhood restaurant in Toronto， told me over dinner. “You’re too busy to spend hours preparing traditional meals.”

He was right. I was so sick of cooking， I’d happily serve up protein pellets if I could get away with it.

He offered to show me a new way of doing things in the kitchen. But first I’d have to learn to chop. Chop？ What on earth did chopping have to do with cooking？ Everything， according to Mr. Shewchuk， who once ran a 1）bistro in Paris.

For many Japanese chefs， cooking is chopping. Although he doesn’t take things as far， Mr. Shewchuk believes in “the elegant gesture” in cooking， whose 2）rituals are part of the beauty of life. Knives are a big part of this. If you are a master chopper， preparing food becomes pleasurable and even poetic.

He maintains that chopping is a 3）kinetic meditation. He says he could chop mushrooms all day and not grow bored. The focus you need while handling sharp objects brings a Zen-like peacefulness， a hard-won state at the best of times. He gave me a starter knife， a Kaneshige， with a light， thin blade and a 4）pakkawood handle， and told me to show up some afternoon at Messis.

I didn’t see how sharp objects could lead to inner 5）tranquillity. But I had a novel 6）out on submission， an anxious time in a writer’s life. I needed a distraction.

He took me to the back of the restaurant. Bean sprouts were growing in large Mason jars. Chicken 7）stock was bubbling on the burners. Men in aprons were running back and forth. Mr. Shewchuk put an apron on me and set to work on my re-education.

He demonstrated two chopping motions： the Asian-style chop， where a brisk bouncing motion of the wrist propels the entire blade up and down， and the European-style chop， where just the heel of the blade rises and falls in a rocking motion. Some say the European chop is more precise， but the Asian chop is definitely faster.

Naturally， you have to hold the knife properly. Mr. Shewchuk holds it closer to the blade in the 8）pinch grip， which he learned at cooking school. But no matter how you grip the knife， it’s best to hold your fingers primly back so your knuckles protect your thumb.

Feeling awkward and self-conscious， I made all the usual first mistakes. I stuck out my thumb and I didn’t do the European chop vigorously enough—the red peppers looked pretty ragged. I managed better with the 9）zucchini and mushrooms； I didn’t cut myself， either.

Afterward， I ate my reward： a delicious lunch of 10）scallops and vegetables. Contentment settled over me. Even better： I’d forgotten to worry about my book.

Mr. Shewchuk gave me a second， bigger knife， with a 11）magnolia wood handle， and told me to practise with both it and the Kaneshige at home. At first， I was too nervous. Although he called them starter knives， they looked like works of art to me. Light and sharp， they could cut through a page of my newspaper with shocking ease. And I was nervous about unthinkingly scraping the board with my knife， a big no-no （along with cutting frozen foods， opening cans or using the knife as pliers or a hammer）.

Over the course of a month， I waited for a publishing deal and I chopped like a samurai warrior in training. Gradually， I grew more comfortable. I showed some friends my new chops and brought my niece to one of my 12）tutorials. I found myself looking forward to the grounded calm that comes with chopping， its sense of connection to the rhythms of the day.

As we began cutting up cucumbers， tomatoes， 13）avocado， sweet onions， 14）jicama root and 15）kohlrabi， I realized that there was something 16）cathartic about chopping—perhaps it was the pleasure of pretending I was chopping off … well， not the heads of certain slow-moving editors but cutting some less vital body part into a julienne. I was starting to understand： If chopping means imagining that various problems （or people） are getting cut too， that’s just part of the elegant gesture.

“Chopping is a talent like playing the piano，”Mr. Ivan Fonseca， a chef at Messis， said consolingly.“Some people have it and others don’t， but your chopping will get better with practice.”

After lunch， we went outside for the last demonstration of the afternoon. Mr. Shewchuk had set up a six-foot 17）dummy figure made out of plastic water bottles. He took out a samurai sword he owns and with several forceful sideways strokes， shredded the dummy figure. Mr. Fonseca dispensed with another dummy right after. Clearly， knives can be murderous objects. In fact， Japanese cooking knives come from the samurai sword and cleavers used in Japan to chop tobacco.

But chopping is meditative bliss. Go ahead and try it， although you need to take a lesson in how to do it properly first. It’s no good rushing into kinetic meditation. You have to learn to cut through your worries and frustrations， the way I did， chop by chop.

“你得與時俱進，”尤金·舒查克在晚餐的時候?qū)ξ艺f道。他是我的朋友，也是多倫多一家深受喜愛的大眾餐廳——梅西斯餐廳的店主?！澳闾α?，沒時間花上幾個小時來準備傳統(tǒng)飯菜?！?/p>

他說得沒錯。我對烹飪極其厭惡，我非常樂意端出蛋白質(zhì)顆粒給大家吃，要是可以的話。

他提出向我展示一種在廚房里做事的新方法。但首先我得學(xué)會切菜。切菜？切菜到底跟烹飪有何關(guān)系？據(jù)舒查克先生所述，事事相關(guān)。他曾在巴黎經(jīng)營一家小酒館。

對許多日本廚師來說，烹飪就是切菜。盡管舒查克先生并沒把事情做到這般程度，但他推崇烹飪中的“優(yōu)雅姿態(tài)”，其中的儀禮是生命之美的一部分。刀是當(dāng)中一大主角。倘若你是個切菜高手，準備飯菜就會變得愉悅快樂，甚至充滿詩意。

他堅持認為切菜是一種動態(tài)冥想。他說他可以一整天切蘑菇而毫不厭倦。把持鋒利物件所需的專注會帶來一種禪式的平和，那是難得的最佳狀態(tài)。他給了我一把入門刀——兼重刀，有著又輕又薄的刀刃，以及彩木刀柄，并且讓我在某天下午到梅西斯餐廳去。

我看不出鋒利物件何以能導(dǎo)向內(nèi)心平靜。但我有一本小說正交由編輯審核，正在經(jīng)歷作家生涯的一個焦慮期。我需要一樣事情來讓我分心。

他把我?guī)У讲蛷d后方。那里，豆芽在大寬口瓶里生長；雞湯在爐子上冒泡；穿著圍裙的男子在跑來跑去。舒查克先生把一條圍裙穿在我身上，并且開始對我進行再教育。

他展示了兩套切菜的動作：東方切法——手腕的急促彈動推動整個刀刃的起落；歐式切法——只靠刀尾來回起落。有人說歐式切法更為精準，但亞式切法絕對更快。

當(dāng)然，握刀姿勢要得當(dāng)。舒查克先生的握刀方法是靠近刀刃，這是他從烹飪學(xué)校里學(xué)來的。但無論你如何手握菜刀，你最好將你的手指小心地收回來，以便你的指關(guān)節(jié)能保護到你的拇指。

我覺得自己笨拙又不自然，犯了所有初學(xué)者通常會犯的錯誤。我伸出大拇指，在實踐歐式切法時活力不足——紅辣椒看上去非常粗糙。在切西葫蘆和蘑菇時，我就控制得好一些，我也沒切到自己。

隨后，我吃了自己的犒賞：一頓用扇貝和蔬菜做出來的美味午餐。我心滿意足。更為滿意的一點是：我忘記了去擔(dān)心自己的書。

舒查克先生給了我第二把更大的刀，有個木蘭木的刀柄，并叮囑我在家里用這把刀和那把兼重刀一起練習(xí)。起初，我太過緊張了。雖然他稱這些刀為入門刀，但對我而言它們看起來卻像是藝術(shù)品。它們輕盈而鋒利，能夠輕而易舉地切開一頁報紙。而且我還擔(dān)心稍不留神就會用刀削到砧板——那是一大禁忌（這些禁忌還包括切冷凍食物、開罐頭或者把刀當(dāng)成鉗子和錘子來用）。

一個月下來，我一邊等著一份出版合同，一邊像日本武士接受訓(xùn)練那樣切菜。慢慢地，我變得自在了很多。我將我的新切法向一些朋友展示，并且將我的侄女收歸為我的一個門生。我發(fā)現(xiàn)自己盼望著伴隨切菜而來的那種徹底的平靜，盼望著那種切合時日節(jié)奏的感覺。

當(dāng)我們開始切黃瓜、西紅柿、鱷梨、甜洋蔥、豆薯根和大頭菜時，我明白到切菜可以宣泄某些情緒——或許那是一種我假裝正在切下某些東西的喜悅……嗯，并不是某些動作緩慢的編輯的頭顱，而是將某些不夠活躍的肢體切成細條。我開始明白：若說是切菜意味著想象各種問題（或人物）也在被切開，那只是其美態(tài)之一。

“切菜是一種如同彈鋼琴般的天賦，”伊凡·馮塞卡先生深感安慰地說道。他是梅西斯餐廳的一名廚師。“有些人擁有這種天賦，有些人沒有，但你的切功經(jīng)過練習(xí)就會變得更好?！?/p>

吃過午飯后，我們走到室外，進行下午的最后示范。舒查克先生支起一個用塑料水瓶做成的六英尺高的人偶。他拿出一把自己的武士刀，從側(cè)面大力揮舞了幾下，將人偶劃切成碎塊。馮塞卡先生隨后也廢掉了另一個人偶。很明顯，刀可以是一種殺戮的工具。事實上，日本的烹飪刀就是從武士刀和以往用來切煙草的大刀發(fā)展而來的。

但切菜有一份冥想的幸福感。來試一試吧，雖然你得先學(xué)習(xí)如何恰當(dāng)?shù)厝プ?。匆匆進入動態(tài)冥想并不妥當(dāng)。你得學(xué)習(xí)切穿你的憂慮和挫折，我的方法是，“切切”不休。