Culture Shock #32: Germans are masters of the knife and fork

I grew up hacking at my food with a fork in my fisted hand. I don't want this to reflect poorly on my parents. I don't think it's their fault. If the manner in which I ate was embarrassingly poorer than my U.S. American peers, I would've surely done something about it. Which leads me to believe that most U.S. Americans hack at food with forks in fisted hands.

Meanwhile, you wouldn't catch a German dead without a knife in their hand.

Alright that came out wrong. Lemme try again.

Germans approach their meal with the tender love and kindness of a fork and a butter knife. The fork rests in the non-dominant hand, flipped upside-down, as to aid the knife (in the dominant hand) in the process of cutting food. What food, you may ask? All foods. Potatoes and meat. That much you expected. Salad. Yep, now it's getting interesting. Pizza. Ah, I've got your attention now. Ketchup. Now you're confused. Don't worry, I was too. 

Upon moving here, I found the sudden introduction of the butter knife in my life irritating. Superfluous. Just another thing to shove in the dishwasher. Plus...Pizza? Good god, did the Italians know about this?

Then I started eating warm meals with kids. (Like, at my job. Not just like for fun.) I watched seven-year-olds pick up their butter knives to deftly smear ketchup onto hot dogs. I watched them carefully cut their casseroles into teenie perfect bite-sized pieces and place these pieces on their teenie perfect pink tongues. My irritation transformed into envy. Why do these pipsqueaks look like little princesses eating their bland-ass casseroles? And why do I look like an ogre eating mine?

I am slowly starting to appreciate the beauty of the butter knife. Its sweetly serrated edge. Its gentle slice. More importantly, I've learned that the butter knife doesn't undermine the work of my beloved fork, but bolsters it. Celebrates it. Allows the fork to do what the fork is supposed to do - stab. Provides sweet relief to the the side of the fork, which I'd been using as a makeshift knife for as long as I can remember. I've learned that the butter knife and the fork are teammates, not enemies. I don't have to choose one or the other, I can choose both. Except, of course, when I eat pizza. Then I choose neither.