My anxiety was not eased by the presence of steak knives with heavy wooden handles and sharp serrated blades, and a sort of diabolical trolley that was wheeled, steaming, to the table by a stout man with a pencil mustache who with the flourish of a gleaming knife indicated the meat and demanded to know where I wanted it carved.

NPR: Excerpt: 'Trauma'

You carried it for protection, getting there, and again at dinner, for spearing a chunk of meat from a passing platter after which you ripped it off your knife and, possibly bleeding from this awkward exercise, popped it into your mouth.

NEWYORKER: A Fork of One��s Own