My daughter cooked dinner last night: penne with ham and asparagus. She used a sharp knife to chop the ingredients, then cooked them and mixed them together with olive oil, salt, pepper, and an Audrey-sized mound of parmesean cheese (aka "turning cheese"). She was extraordinarily proud.
So was I, once I recovered from helping her guide the knife. To my credit, she finished the meal with the same number of fingers as when she started.
You know how they say most accidents occur in the kitchen? After being knife-stabilizer, I think most heart attacks occur there, too.