Good reads

BOWLED OVER
© Lydia Walshin (Rhode Island Monthly, January 2005)

When I was a little girl, I spent most every Sunday afternoon in my grandmother's kitchen. She had two of everything, as many kosher kitchens do: two fridges, two sinks, two sets of dishes.

There was, however, only one gigantic maple chopping bowl. It could hold five pounds of ground beef for Grandma's sweet and sour meatballs, or two dozen hard-boiled eggs and sautéed onions for her famous chopped liver. I was too young to use the sharp-toothed circular chopper, but I would keep her company at the big Formica table while she chopped and scraped down the sides of the bowl. That rhythmic chop-chop-chopping accompanied many important conversations between a young girl and her favorite grandmother.

When Grandma passed away, the bowl passed to my family. My father assumed the chopping duties, but we made those old recipes less frequently and the bowl, put into storage, dried and cracked. And my quest for a suitable replacement commenced.

I checked flea markets and yard sales, online and import shops. My collection grew: exotic wood bowls from Africa, hand-turned bowls by New England artisans, bowls with feet and bowls with warp, bowls with patina and bowls with patches. Wide bowls for salad, lipped bowls for dough. And not one of them exactly right.

I decided to make something new that could grow old in the next generation of my family's kitchens. There was just one problem. I had absolutely no idea where to start.

Woodcraft, in East Greenwich, turns out to be the perfect place. Opened three years ago by George Snyder, a former Air Force captain, Woodcraft sells tools and supplies for all aspects of woodworking. In a bright, glass walled room in the rear of the store, Woodcraft offers a full menu of classes for experienced woodworkers and beginners.

In 2003, Rick Sousa took one of Woodcraft's basic woodturning classes; soon he got so good that he was invited to teach. A 1976 graduate of Rhode Island College, Rick always had planned to be an art teacher, but school systems were cutting back and there were no jobs. After a varied career building boats and houses, he now makes beds and furniture for Stephen Plaud Custom Furnishings in Tiverton, and volunteers as a workshop leader teaching woodturning to kids at Tiverton Middle School.

On a rainy Saturday morning, three people have registered for Beginning Bowl Turning. Matt, a professional furniture maker from Foster, has studied woodturning at Worcester Center for Crafts, owns a lathe, and has made several bowls. Mike from Worcester, a tech guy for a photography company, owns a mini-lathe, turns exotic wood pens, and has made one bowl. And there's me, a tool-phobic neophyte who has never gotten up close and personal with anything more powerful than a Kitchenaid stand mixer.

Small classes (limited to six participants) mean lots of personal attention. Rick starts us off slowly, demonstrating how to operate the lathe, tool handling, and safety procedures. We will use only one sharp, beveled gouge to make our bowls, he explains, noting that if you master one tool, you can do everything you need to do. Just like cooking, I realize; if you learn how to use one pot and one knife, you can make anything.

I'd thought a lot about the bowl I wanted to make. It should sit flat on the counter, to be stable for mixing, and for the same reason it should be more wide than tall. I would choose a hard wood for chopping, and a neutral wood that would not taint the flavor of food.

Knowing I'm planning to create a bowl that can be used in the kitchen, Rick highlights issues to consider in making (or buying) a food-safe bowl. Avoid spalted wood (it looks beautiful, but the spalting is caused by mold). Choose a shape that's easy to clean, with no inside corners to trap food. And make sure the finish is food-safe. The mineral oil/beeswax finish we would be using, Rick tells us, helps to seal and protect the wood. The heat of the spinning lathe melts beeswax into the pores; the beeswax is spread by mineral oil, also warmed by the lathe. Mineral oil, a neutral product, does not impart flavor to food, nor will it become rancid.

Introduction complete, it's time to get started. Brace the gouge against your hip, Rick suggests, and swivel. Good idea, but I¹m shorter than the guys, and my gouge ends up closer to my armpit. I get the swivel thing going anyway, and turn on the lathe.

RIDE THE BEVEL. Rick's mantra echoes in my head, as I attempt to position my gouge at just the right angle to the wood. RIDE THE BEVEL. We spend the morning working on small practice bowls (mine comes out with beautiful straight sides ­ not my intention, but interesting). Time flies, in that way it does when you are totally absorbed in learning something new. Rick's easy style makes the class relaxed and fun, but I'm a stranger in a strange land, concentrating hard, swiveling my armpit, and unknowingly holding my breath.

After a quick lunch, we each select a round block of maple, approximately eight inches in diameter (the largest size this lathe can accommodate). We screw the chuck to the wood, and mount our blocks on the shaft. We each have a sharp beveled gouge made of high-speed tungsten steel. Face masks down, power up. The next four hours evaporate in a swirl of sawdust and the whir of motors.

Riding the bevel is exactly like surfing, I imagine. When your gouge (surfboard) meets the spinning block of wood at just the right angle, you get a long curl of wood shaving that's as smooth as riding the curl of a giant wave.

I have a few moments when I am in that zone, riding my bevel, wood shavings spinning off the bowl. I have more moments when I can't find my bevel anywhere, and I'm jabbing at the wood with my gouge. But Rick is right there to get me back on course and, slowly, my bowl takes shape. Not the shape I'd set out to make, but no matter. Even when, nearly finished shaping the inside curve, I lose my groove and end up with too many grooves, Rick smoothes it out in a second, and voila! A bit of power sanding, a bit of beeswax and mineral oil, and I have a ready-to-use, honest-to-goodness, thing-of-beauty bowl.

Though we had started with nearly identical blocks of wood, our group creates three very different bowls. Mike's is upright, with an elegant foot and rounded lip. Matt's, which cracked at one point and looked like a goner, has been rescued by Rick with some quick reshaping, and becomes a delicate bowl with a dainty foot. Mine has an "innie" instead of a foot, so it will sit flat on the table. The shape resembles the old English dairy bowls used in the 19th century for making butter and cheese. (I use it for salad; it's the perfect size for two.)

Rick had warned me that bowl turning can be addictive. I understand why. There's a definite high when you're riding the bevel, watching a future heirloom take shape in your hands. I'm not addicted. I'm not buying a lathe. But I'm not hanging up my gouge just yet. There's Grandma's chopping bowl to make, and maybe a couple of wedding presents, too, while I'm in the groove.

[Beginning Bowl Turning at Woodcraft, East Greenwich Square, 1000 Division Street, East Greenwich, 10 a.m. ­ 4 p.m., $135 (includes materials). For a schedule and more information, call 401-886-1175 or www.woodcraft.com.]

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