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“ 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.
“你得与时俱进，”尤金·舒查克在晚餐的时候对我说道。他是我的朋友，也是多伦多一家深受喜爱的大众餐厅——梅西斯餐厅的店主。“你太忙了，没时间花上几个小时来准备传统饭菜。”
他说得没错。我对烹饪极其厌恶，我非常乐意端出蛋白质颗粒给大家吃，要是可以的话。
他提出向我展示一种在厨房里做事的新方法。但首先我得学会切菜。切菜？切菜到底跟烹饪有何关系？据舒查克先生所述，事事相关。他曾在巴黎经营一家小酒馆。
对许多日本厨师来说，烹饪就是切菜。尽管舒查克先生并没把事情做到这般程度，但他推崇烹饪中的“优雅姿态”，其中的仪礼是生命之美的一部分。刀是当中一大主角。倘若你是个切菜高手，准备饭菜就会变得愉悦快乐，甚至充满诗意。
他坚持认为切菜是一种动态冥想。他说他可以一整天切蘑菇而毫不厌倦。把持锋利物件所需的专注会带来一种禅式的平和，那是难得的最佳状态。他给了我一把入门刀——兼重刀，有着又轻又薄的刀刃，以及彩木刀柄，并且让我在某天下午到梅西斯餐厅去。
我看不出锋利物件何以能导向内心平静。但我有一本小说正交由编辑审核，正在经历作家生涯的一个焦虑期。我需要一样事情来让我分心。
他把我带到餐厅后方。那里，豆芽在大宽口瓶里生长；鸡汤在炉子上冒泡；穿着围裙的男子在跑来跑去。舒查克先生把一条围裙穿在我身上，并且开始对我进行再教育。
他展示了两套切菜的动作：东方切法——手腕的急促弹动推动整个刀刃的起落；欧式切法——只靠刀尾来回起落。有人说欧式切法更为精准，但亚式切法绝对更快。
当然，握刀姿势要得当。舒查克先生的握刀方法是靠近刀刃，这是他从烹饪学校里学来的。但无论你如何手握菜刀，你最好将你的手指小心地收回来，以便你的指关节能保护到你的拇指。
我觉得自己笨拙又不自然，犯了所有初学者通常会犯的错误。我伸出大拇指，在实践欧式切法时活力不足——红辣椒看上去非常粗糙。在切西葫芦和蘑菇时，我就控制得好一些，我也没切到自己。
随后，我吃了自己的犒赏：一顿用扇贝和蔬菜做出来的美味午餐。我心满意足。更为满意的一点是：我忘记了去担心自己的书。
舒查克先生给了我第二把更大的刀，有个木兰木的刀柄，并叮嘱我在家里用这把刀和那把兼重刀一起练习。起初，我太过紧张了。虽然他称这些刀为入门刀，但对我而言它们看起来却像是艺术品。它们轻盈而锋利，能够轻而易举地切开一页报纸。而且我还担心稍不留神就会用刀削到砧板——那是一大禁忌（这些禁忌还包括切冷冻食物、开罐头或者把刀当成钳子和锤子来用）。
一个月下来，我一边等着一份出版合同，一边像日本武士接受训练那样切菜。慢慢地，我变得自在了很多。我将我的新切法向一些朋友展示，并且将我的侄女收归为我的一个门生。我发现自己盼望着伴随切菜而来的那种彻底的平静，盼望着那种切合时日节奏的感觉。
当我们开始切黄瓜、西红柿、鳄梨、甜洋葱、豆薯根和大头菜时，我明白到切菜可以宣泄某些情绪——或许那是一种我假装正在切下某些东西的喜悦……嗯，并不是某些动作缓慢的编辑的头颅，而是将某些不够活跃的肢体切成细条。我开始明白：若说是切菜意味着想象各种问题（或人物）也在被切开，那只是其美态之一。
“切菜是一种如同弹钢琴般的天赋，”伊凡·冯塞卡先生深感安慰地说道。他是梅西斯餐厅的一名厨师。“有些人拥有这种天赋，有些人没有，但你的切功经过练习就会变得更好。”
吃过午饭后，我们走到室外，进行下午的最后示范。舒查克先生支起一个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，从侧面大力挥舞了几下，将人偶划切成碎块。冯塞卡先生随后也废掉了另一个人偶。很明显，刀可以是一种杀戮的工具。事实上，日本的烹饪刀就是从武士刀和以往用来切烟草的大刀发展而来的。
但切菜有一份冥想的幸福感。来试一试吧，虽然你得先学习如何恰当地去做。匆匆进入动态冥想并不妥当。你得学习切穿你的忧虑和挫折，我的方法是，“切切”不休。
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.
“你得与时俱进，”尤金·舒查克在晚餐的时候对我说道。他是我的朋友，也是多伦多一家深受喜爱的大众餐厅——梅西斯餐厅的店主。“你太忙了，没时间花上几个小时来准备传统饭菜。”
他说得没错。我对烹饪极其厌恶，我非常乐意端出蛋白质颗粒给大家吃，要是可以的话。
他提出向我展示一种在厨房里做事的新方法。但首先我得学会切菜。切菜？切菜到底跟烹饪有何关系？据舒查克先生所述，事事相关。他曾在巴黎经营一家小酒馆。
对许多日本厨师来说，烹饪就是切菜。尽管舒查克先生并没把事情做到这般程度，但他推崇烹饪中的“优雅姿态”，其中的仪礼是生命之美的一部分。刀是当中一大主角。倘若你是个切菜高手，准备饭菜就会变得愉悦快乐，甚至充满诗意。
他坚持认为切菜是一种动态冥想。他说他可以一整天切蘑菇而毫不厌倦。把持锋利物件所需的专注会带来一种禅式的平和，那是难得的最佳状态。他给了我一把入门刀——兼重刀，有着又轻又薄的刀刃，以及彩木刀柄，并且让我在某天下午到梅西斯餐厅去。
我看不出锋利物件何以能导向内心平静。但我有一本小说正交由编辑审核，正在经历作家生涯的一个焦虑期。我需要一样事情来让我分心。
他把我带到餐厅后方。那里，豆芽在大宽口瓶里生长；鸡汤在炉子上冒泡；穿着围裙的男子在跑来跑去。舒查克先生把一条围裙穿在我身上，并且开始对我进行再教育。
他展示了两套切菜的动作：东方切法——手腕的急促弹动推动整个刀刃的起落；欧式切法——只靠刀尾来回起落。有人说欧式切法更为精准，但亚式切法绝对更快。
当然，握刀姿势要得当。舒查克先生的握刀方法是靠近刀刃，这是他从烹饪学校里学来的。但无论你如何手握菜刀，你最好将你的手指小心地收回来，以便你的指关节能保护到你的拇指。
我觉得自己笨拙又不自然，犯了所有初学者通常会犯的错误。我伸出大拇指，在实践欧式切法时活力不足——红辣椒看上去非常粗糙。在切西葫芦和蘑菇时，我就控制得好一些，我也没切到自己。
随后，我吃了自己的犒赏：一顿用扇贝和蔬菜做出来的美味午餐。我心满意足。更为满意的一点是：我忘记了去担心自己的书。
舒查克先生给了我第二把更大的刀，有个木兰木的刀柄，并叮嘱我在家里用这把刀和那把兼重刀一起练习。起初，我太过紧张了。虽然他称这些刀为入门刀，但对我而言它们看起来却像是艺术品。它们轻盈而锋利，能够轻而易举地切开一页报纸。而且我还担心稍不留神就会用刀削到砧板——那是一大禁忌（这些禁忌还包括切冷冻食物、开罐头或者把刀当成钳子和锤子来用）。
一个月下来，我一边等着一份出版合同，一边像日本武士接受训练那样切菜。慢慢地，我变得自在了很多。我将我的新切法向一些朋友展示，并且将我的侄女收归为我的一个门生。我发现自己盼望着伴随切菜而来的那种彻底的平静，盼望着那种切合时日节奏的感觉。
当我们开始切黄瓜、西红柿、鳄梨、甜洋葱、豆薯根和大头菜时，我明白到切菜可以宣泄某些情绪——或许那是一种我假装正在切下某些东西的喜悦……嗯，并不是某些动作缓慢的编辑的头颅，而是将某些不够活跃的肢体切成细条。我开始明白：若说是切菜意味着想象各种问题（或人物）也在被切开，那只是其美态之一。
“切菜是一种如同弹钢琴般的天赋，”伊凡·冯塞卡先生深感安慰地说道。他是梅西斯餐厅的一名厨师。“有些人拥有这种天赋，有些人没有，但你的切功经过练习就会变得更好。”
吃过午饭后，我们走到室外，进行下午的最后示范。舒查克先生支起一个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，从侧面大力挥舞了几下，将人偶划切成碎块。冯塞卡先生随后也废掉了另一个人偶。很明显，刀可以是一种杀戮的工具。事实上，日本的烹饪刀就是从武士刀和以往用来切烟草的大刀发展而来的。
但切菜有一份冥想的幸福感。来试一试吧，虽然你得先学习如何恰当地去做。匆匆进入动态冥想并不妥当。你得学习切穿你的忧虑和挫折，我的方法是，“切切”不休。