It is another time, in another place.
The doorbell of our loft sounds unexpectedly and Peggy goes to answer it. It’s our then next-door neighbor Avner, holding a package. We love Avner. A big-hearted Israeli guy with an imposing height and physique to match his aforementioned heart, Avner is a tireless source of surreal wit and good cheer. We threw a party some weeks before this, and he came over to complain that we weren’t being loud enough, and then proceeded to commandeer the stereo, putting on a selection of disco classics which morph our CBGB vibe into more of a Paradise Garage aesthetic. We’re not quite sure what Avner's actual job is, but we know he pursues a fittingly bizarre sideline performing in a few West Village cabarets as “the Singing Cowboy,” …. which is extra strange, given his thick Hebrew accent. After standing silhouetted in our front door like a looming Darth Vader, Avner is welcomed into our home.
Avner proceeds to inform us that he’s taken a gig as a sort of ersatz door-to-door salesman, and asks if we will allow him to practice his pitch on us. No sooner are the words “of course” out of our mouths than Avner is busily unpacking his mystery parcel and laying out a series of strange implements and a thick coil of gnarled rope on our dining room table. His display complete, Avner launches into a clearly well-rehearsed, bright-eyed shpiel in his signature clipped English about the inarguable benefits of this new miracle product he is brandishing. Peggy and I are doing our very damnedest not to giggle as Avner delivers his detailed narrative. The product in question is a sort of wide, flat blade in a most unconventional shape, featuring a serrated edge and a curious grip. An ideal serving implement, this strange tool can act as both a versatile cutter and de facto spatula, perfect for slicing and dispensing pieces of cake, pie, lasagna and countless other dishes with ease and efficiency. By the same token, it’s also sturdy and rugged enough to cut seamlessly through the most resistant materials. With that he proceeds to demonstrate the blade’s prowess by butchering the aforementioned coil of rope into a series of bite-sized tidbits, fleetingly prompting my wife to offer them around as hors d’oeuvres. ”Rope, anyone?"
Following a few more compelling demonstrations of the blade’s myriad uses (including the fun bonus that it makes a weird little sound when you bend it against a hard surface), Avner wraps up his pitch and, figuratively, goes for the jugular. In short order, we glean that this is no practice shpiel but a genuine sales pitch, and we are expected to take the bait. Unable to resist Avner’s puckish enthusiasm, we oblige and ask how much he’s asking for the miracle knife.
“It’s a complete bargain at only $65.00”
Peg and I glance at each other, deflate slightly, and then succumb. We pony up an unthinkable 65 bucks for this single implement out of love and respect for our dear neighbor. Giddy with victory, Avner packs up his stuff and departs. We are 65 dollars poorer and now own a something that looks like the bastard child of a spork and a tool used by medieval dentists.
That was 1999.
It is now 2022, and we are STILL using Avner’s freaky knife. We no longer live in that loft, but the Avner knife came with us when we moved, and while we’ve never again used it to cut up rope, it has been employed in the preparation of countless meals and intricate dishes, from pizza to soufflé to homemade pies to every single birthday cake we’ve ever made for our children. Other kitchen curiosities have come and gone, but the Avner knife has become the only constant. I don’t even know how I’d function, let alone even begin to replace it, if it went missing.
Best $65.00 we ever spent.
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