I can’t watch Maggie chopping carrots: she does it all wrong.
Every TV chef I’ve ever watched talks about curling your fingers back under and resting the flat of the blade against your knuckles so you have complete control and there is no chance of removing the tips of your fingers by mistake.
Some have even mentioned the practice of keeping the tip of the knife permanently on the chopping board acting like a hinge, so the knife rises and falls more like a paper guillotine. This extra level of control allows you to cut with increased speed and security.
Maggie does neither of these things. The knife is used more like a cleaver with the entire thing rising above carrot, while Maggie’s fingers are pressed outwards, perilously close to the falling blade.
But I’m not allowed to say anything. Maggie’s been chopping carrots since before I was born and has never cut her fingers. She can also chop them at least five times faster than me.
So I shove my knuckles in my mouth to stop from yelling out, then look away and try not to think about it.
And I know if I was to mention my thoughts out loud, I’d be forever more on soup duty.