Hair & Body
My Love Affair with Mora Knives
My Grandmother was an amazing cook. A believer in a simple life. A woman who loved baked beans and soup that was hotter than the surface of the sun. She taught me how to make jam, a perfect pie crust, a beautiful soup. She believed it was vital for me to know how to do things by hand, so I spent my summer days in her garden and the evenings in her kitchen.
Grandma’s favourite (only?) knife was a Mora Classic. She did everything with that thing-- peeled potatoes, cut me orange supremes, repaired her wooden spoon, and prepped every meal. When she died, after moving around a little, her trusty Mora went missing. One day a year or two later, my brother presented me with grandma’s kitchen knife! It wasn’t the same one, but it was of similar vintage; its red handle was losing its colour, and the carbon steel blade stained grey with time and perhaps a few onions. That said, I have worked in enough kitchens and owned enough awesome kitchen knives to know that a Mora Classic is better used elsewhere. So, Grandma’s kitchen knife became my very first bushcraft knife. Obviously, I was pretty emotionally attached. As I started picking up skills, I wanted to use my vintage Mora less and less; I replaced its function with a trusty Mora Companion.
The Mora Classic comes with a handy and stylish belt sheath!
This knife is incredible! I learned to carve feather sticks, baton firewood, to spark a fire, and yes, to carve spoons with it. It was inexpensive, so I never feel too precious about it. It makes me feel confident to try new skills and practice old ones. It is comfortable to hold and stands up to any challenge I put before it. It is also super easy to sharpen-- which is nice when you want to learn to sharpen your knives but don’t want to practice your skills on your fancy Japanese kitchen knife! This knife has truly become a companion. I always have it strapped to my bag when I’m camping, and when I get a little bored, I pick it up to practice one of my camping skills.
Grandma’s ‘kitchen knife’ has been retired from camping and hangs on my knife magnet out of nostalgia and tradition. Once in a while, I will think of her, peel a potato or carrot and wonder why she never had a paring knife.
