Only the Italians could reserve such reverence for a slicing machine. The Berkel sits quietly in its corner in our tasting room, beautiful and Ferrari red, all shiny chrome. A restored Berkel of grandeur, to be admired but not having forgotten its purpose in this life.
I had never really noticed it properly, until one evening one of our guests entered. He stood at a respectful distance and described to me the beauty of a Berkel. One perfect slice after another, he imitated the turn and rhythm that must be in a Berkel.
Just recently a girl admired it, young I thought to appreciate it, but she mentioned that her grandfather since he retired, restores Berkel’s for his passion. What a piece of machinery, like a vintage car, they don’t make them like this anymore.