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| - My father's kitchen knife was decent, forty years ago. But after he passed away, his widow had a dilemma. It had dulled to the point where it couldnt cut flank steak to prepare Beef Stroganoff, yet she couldnt bear to replace it. It reminded her of him.
So, my 78 yr old mom asked me to see if I could get it sharpened somewhere. You'd laugh if you saw the knife. It isnt high end and the handle is worn and gray, like cracked driftwood. Yelpers liked PKH service, so off I went with Dad's knife and one El Cheapo of my own. Honestly, I was hesitant approaching the door. This place is run by a chef, and the website drips with Japanese specialty knives costing hundreds of dollars. I took a breath, "steeled" myself, unsure what to expect.
Well, this guy, Eytan I guess, couldnt have been nicer. Nice isnt even the word. He examined my crummy knives intently, handled them like they were Faberge eggs, kindly educated me on the makers and explained in detail what he could and couldnt do to hone these particular blades. Turns out, the Italian maker of Dad's knife was pretty good. "These always come back", Eytan said, and he was right.
For less than ten dollars, this bona fide expert took what could've been a mundane, or preoccupied or even sneering transaction and instead made me feel like Chris Bianco or someone, and more importantly, made an old lady very happy.
This guy's my hero and deserves your business as well.
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