Thiers is widely known among those afflicted with chronic knife-geekery
as the European capital of fine, locally made folding knives.
Walking into one of the knife boutiques
in the French town of Thiers was like walking into a watch store in
Switzerland. There were so many dazzling choices: rare folding knives
with real mammoth-tooth handles and hand-forged Damascus steel blades
that sell for thousands of euros beside handsome pocket knives and
hunting knives priced anywhere between €50 to €500. I was a kid in a
candy store.
I was a kid in a candy store.
Thiers
is widely known among those of us afflicted with chronic knife-geekery
as the European capital of fine, locally made folding knives. That’s why
I had come. My thing is artisanal pocket knives with a corkscrew. The
corkscrew requirement helps restrict my knife-purchasing urges that
might otherwise spiral out of control, and makes the knife a more
practiced accomplice in my joie de vivre. I never leave home without
choosing a knife from my little collection and dropping it in my pocket.
And I never miss a chance to use it, even if it means ridiculously
cutting the top off a banana.
I’d been drawn to this small Auvergne town
(population 11,600) by its long history of craftsmanship. Knives were
being made here at least as far back as the 15th Century, and probably
as early as the 13th, according to the ancient grindstones found just
below town by the Durolle River, which powered the mill paddlewheels.
And
knives have been made here ever since. In fact, the man showing me the
knife in his shop, his fingertips cracked and blackened, had made many
of them himself.
Dominique Chambriard, wearing a traditional blue
workman’s tunic, proudly led me to a version of the area’s iconic knife,
‘Le Thiers’, which was designed in 1993, when the Confrerie du Couteau
Le Thiers (Brotherhood of the Thiers Knife) was set up to make a knife
distinctive to their town. Fifteen local master knife-makers (including
Chambriard), over a period of months, designed a simple, subtle, organic
design for ‘Le Thiers’, based on ideas from their 16th-Century guild
forefathers.
“We had two priorities: beautiful, simple design, and excellent function,” Chambriard told me in French.
Today,
the proof of those priorities is evident in the many subtle variations –
perhaps a proportionally longer blade or embellished handle – upon the
approved graceful design. These fine modern folding knives are
assembled usually by one artisan, mostly by hand, using a hammer, metal
snips and electric belt grinders and polishers.
We had two priorities: beautiful, simple design, and excellent function.
Currently, there are more than 200
coutelleries, family-owned
knife workshops, in the Brotherhood, including Coutellerie
Robert-David, which has been operating under different family names
since 1919. The shop offers a variety of knives in many styles,
including a version of the iconic Le Thiers.
Before I arrived in
town, I called and asked if I could come to the shop and order a Le
Thiers knife, choosing in person the exact piece of material for the
handle, the blade and the folding spring. “
Oui, certainement,” said Monsieur Stéphane Brossard, a great-grandson of the founder.
Brossard showed me knife after knife with
various handles and blades. Did I want a wooden handle? Or maybe animal
horn? Bone? What about the blade? Stainless steel with a satin finish
perhaps? Or did I want to splurge on intricately patterned Damascus
steel?
I finally chose a handle of polished, orange-and-green
tinted camel bone and a beautiful Damascus steel blade, all for €407.
After all, one does not make the pilgrimage to Thiers every day.
Stéphane Renard has been a
coutelier
(knife maker) in Thiers for 25 years. I watched as he assembled the six
pieces that make up most folding knives: two handle pieces, the
backbone of two steel liners, the spring and the blade, plus the
additional piece that is
obligatoire for me: the corkscrew.
During the 90 minutes Renard spent assembling, grinding, tapping,
polishing and otherwise fine-tuning my knife, he happily answered my
questions, clearly delighted to meet the person for whom he was making
this fine knife.
My beautiful new knife is a classic Le Thiers.
But as steeped in tradition as knife-making is in this town, not every
local artisan bows at that altar. Roland Lannier, who grew up near Paris
in a family that had nothing to do with knife making, has been a
coutelier in Thiers since he was an 18-year-old apprentice. Later he
worked for Perceval, a respected Thiers atelier, and now makes knives
under his own name, which has quickly gained him a following among
connoisseurs as kind of a beloved bad boy.
Lannier
got into the trade thanks to his misspent youth in medieval
role-playing games while listening to a lot of heavy metal music. His
knives are decidedly
traditional Le Thiers. Sharply
bevelled handles are cut from colourful resins or old vinyl records
layered with anything from tartan designs to album labels.
Did he ever apply to become a member of the venerable Confrerie de Couteau de Thiers?
“Hell, no!” he said in perfect English. One of his most popular knives is named ‘
’, a tribute to the late actor Heath Ledger in his role as the Joker in Batman.
Indeed, why so serious? In Thiers knife shops, I
often saw customers with furrowed brows, trying to decide which of
hundreds of exquisite knives they might choose. Of course, I was one of
them during three days of window-shopping, drooling, seeing so many
beauties I could have happily brought into the family. Instead, with a
big smile, I bought one stunning knife. Which I got to watch being made.
Just one knife, one Le Thiers.
