What makes a fork a fork?
In the 1970s, cutlery designers decided to play with this
idea and push it to its limits. At its core, a fork had to have some hint of
tines (the spiked bits at the end used for spearing food) and a handle — but
apart from that, it was up for grabs. Sometimes forks looked more like pickle
spears, with only two or three sharp tines; at others, they were more like
spoons, with exaggerated bowls tipped with a jagged edge. Handles, too, were
re-defined — either as flat blades or twig-like stalks. A lot of the time,
money was saved and color introduced by making handles out of melamine or
plastic. It was a confusing time for cutlery.
It was a confusing time for most everything. The sudden
desire to re-invent what things looked like and how they functioned extended to
just about everything from clothing to architecture. The results can be easily
identified today because they have not stood the test of time all that well.
This is what happens when you try to fix what ain’t broke — like the design and
function of something that time has honed and proved worthwhile — like the
basic design of a fork, for example.
It wasn’t until quite recently — the 1800s — that people
started using forks rather than the pointed, grabby instruments God gave them,
their hands. Cutlers — people who forged blades and cutlery — have been around
a lot longer. A cutler was listed on a 1297 tax form in Sheffield, the city
that was to become the crucible of the cutlery industry due to its focus on
steelmaking and silver plating.
Metal is a good material for a fork. It retains its shape
after much use, and retains heat from both the hand and hot food. It is
slightly heavy, requiring a practiced dexterity in keeping with its
counterpart, the knife. A well-designed fork had a slightly squared handle and
flared end, so that it may be securely flipped over to scoop or prod, and sat
firmly in the hand. The business end featured four long, curved tines that
allowed for deep food penetration as well as handling sauces such that they
didn’t pool, or drip through. The proportion of tine to bowl allowed for the
lips and tongue to easily remove the food with grace. Importantly, the fork had
a pleasing balance if rested on a finger at its crux.
The fork is the most intimate of ergonomically designed instruments
— it is meant for the mouth and hand. It is an extension of both the hand and
teeth. What happens when a fork drastically changes shape is that it slips from
the hand or stabs your lips. It must be handled differently to manage the food.
One of the great chicken-or-egg questions concerning cutlery
is whether changes in its design caused food to change, or vice-versa. What is
clear is that the kinds of foods people eat today do not require the forks of
yesteryear. There is less solid meat to hold in place and cut. People use the
side of a fork as a knife because they can; food is softer. The fork’s bowl is
larger because more food needs to be scooped.
The apotheosis of the fork’s sad tale ends in the plastic
spork, an object whose utter utility transcends its potential beauty. Sporks
can be found in school lunch rooms, and are often the only piece of cutlery a
child will encounter there, or anywhere else. Often, someone can go for weeks
at a time without handling any cutlery at all, because a great deal of the
modern diet consists of finger foods — burgers, fries, individual-sized
packages and squeezable pouches.
This is not a sign of modernity, but of history. We have
returned to the pre-1800s and don’t even know it.
Food Processor Cook
Book, Better Homes and Gardens, 1979
