Steak Knives for Vicki

Every now and then Vicki asks me to make something for us instead of for somebody else.

This was one of those occasions.

She wanted a set of steak knives for the table—something simple and elegant that we'd enjoy using every day rather than saving for special occasions.

At the time, I decided to make them from AEB-L stainless steel with Huon pine handles, a combination that has become one of my favourites for kitchen knives. The stainless steel is practical and easy to look after, while the warmth of the Huon pine ties in beautifully with the Huon pine features in our kitchen.

Now,making a single knife is one thing.

Making four that all look and feel as though they belong together is something else entirely!

At that stage in my knife-making journey, getting two knives to match was enough of a challenge. Four identical blades, four matching handles, and four identical grinds... suddenly every tiny variation became obvious.

It taught me one of the biggest lessons I've learnt since I started making knives.

Slow down.

For more than thirty-five years my working life revolved around photography, where everything happened in fractions of a second. A wedding kiss, a child's laugh, a fleeting expression—all captured at around 1/125th of a second. Photography taught me to think quickly and react instinctively.

Knife making couldn't be more different.

Nothing good happens quickly.

Sometimes it takes days to finish a single knife, and if you rush one stage, you'll often spend twice as long fixing the mistake later.

In many ways, knife making arrived at exactly the right time in my life.

Since COVID, I've gradually been slowing down with my photography. Our daughter Sam has become an important part of the business and, over time, she'll take over the day-to-day running of the studio. That has given me the opportunity to step back a little, to spend more time in the workshop, and to enjoy learning a craft that rewards patience rather than speed.

It's been a surprisingly satisfying transition.

These steak knives remind me of that every time they come out for dinner.

They're not perfect—I can see plenty of things I'd do differently now—but they represent an important point in my journey, not just as a knife maker, but as I move into the next stage of life.

The older I get, the more I realise that some things simply can't be rushed.

And perhaps that's exactly as it should be.