the messy truth about chopping veggies
So picture this: I’m in my tiny kitchen, music on (probably something embarrassing from the 2000s), and I’ve got this mountain of carrots in front of me. The recipe says *julienne*. I’m staring at the carrots like they’ve personally offended me. Because what even is julienne? Like, do I need a French accent to do it right? (spoiler: no, but it helps you feel fancy.)
Knife cuts sound so chef-y, right? All official with their French names and exact measurements. Large dice, batonnet, brunoise… It feels like culinary Hogwarts. But honestly, once you get the hang of a few, it’s not that scary. And also, it makes your food cook better. Evenly, predictably. No random crunchy potato cubes next to mushy ones. (we’ve all been there.)
So today, let’s dive into the world of knife cuts. But casually. With coffee. And probably a pet trying to steal a piece of celery off the counter.
why bother with “cuts” anyway?
Here’s the thing. You *can* just hack your onions into oblivion and toss them in a pan. No one’s gonna arrest you. But cuts matter because:
* even cooking (tiny cubes of potato won’t take the same time as big honkin’ chunks)
* presentation (food looks better when it’s not a chaotic mess)
* flavor distribution (minced garlic vs. garlic boulders… you get it)
Also… it just feels good. Like, that weird satisfaction when you line up perfect little carrot sticks. Kitchen ASMR.
the greatest hits of knife cuts (with commentary)
Large Dice (the chunky bois)
Big, square-ish cubes. ¾ inch all around. Think stew potatoes. Or watermelon cubes for a picnic that looks way more intentional than it is. Honestly, this one’s forgiving. Nobody’s measuring your stew.
Batonnet (the fancy sticks)
This one’s basically the starting point for medium dice. Long rectangular sticks about ½ inch thick, 2–3 inches long. If you cut fries at home, you’ve probably done batonnet without realizing it. Bonus points if they *actually* look the same size. (mine rarely do.)
Medium Dice (aka “default dice”)
Half-inch cubes. The ones most recipes mean when they just say “diced onions.” It’s the middle child not too big, not too small. You’ll use this constantly without thinking.
Allumette (matchsticks… no, not the fire kind)
Tiny little sticks, about ¼ inch wide and a few inches long. Also the gateway to the small dice. You see these with fancy plated veggies or when someone on a cooking show says “julienne” and you realize you’ve been doing it slightly wrong.
Small Dice (cute little cubes)
¼ inch cubes. These come from slicing up your allumette sticks. They’re adorable. They also cook fast. Perfect for things like sautéed peppers where you don’t want giant bites.
Julienne (the classic chef-y move)
Think carrot sticks for a salad garnish. Long skinny strips, ⅛ inch wide. They look elegant. They make you feel like you know what you’re doing. Bonus: toss them in a stir-fry and they cook in, like, a minute.
Brunoise (fancy name, tiny dice)
⅛ inch cubes. Basically the diced version of julienne. Often used for garnishes. Or when you want to show off your knife skills at a dinner party (don’t worry, no one else knows the difference).
Fine Julienne (when julienne wasn’t skinny enough)
1/16 inch wide. Super delicate little threads of veggies. Honestly, it’s mostly for plating or if you’re trying to impress. Or if you like suffering. Your choice.
Fine Brunoise (smaller than small, still French)
1/16 inch cubes. Yes, cubes that tiny. It sounds ridiculous but it’s gorgeous sprinkled over soups. Like edible confetti.
Mince (the “who cares, it’s tiny” cut)
This is where precision takes a nap. Garlic, ginger, herbs. You’re just chopping until it’s really fine. No rulers required. The goal? Distribute flavor everywhere.
Chiffonade (the leaf situation)
Stack your basil leaves, roll them up like a tiny cigar, slice into ribbons. Boom, chiffonade. Looks amazing sprinkled over pasta or soup. Smells even better. You feel like an herb goddess/god.
but real life isn’t culinary school
Confession: I don’t always hit the “official” sizes. Sometimes my batonnet is more like “random stick that looks fry-shaped-ish.” And that’s fine. The important thing is *consistency*. Your carrot cubes should be about the same size as each other not perfect, but close enough. That’s what keeps things cooking evenly.
And let’s be real, most of us don’t have a ruler out while chopping onions. Unless you’re the type who measures your coffee grounds to the gram. (respect.)
little tips from someone who’s sliced a finger or two
* keep your knife sharp. dull knives are more dangerous (they slip, they fight you, they’re just jerks).
* tuck your fingertips under. think “claw hand.” feels weird at first, but you’ll still have all 10 fingers later.
* stable cutting board. stick a damp towel under it so it doesn’t slide around.
* don’t rush. yes, the chefs on TV chop at lightning speed. they’ve also done it 10,000 times. go slow. it’s still dinner.
(also, bandaids. keep them around. just saying.)
practicing without losing your sanity
I used to practice cuts on potatoes because they’re cheap and sturdy. You can dice, batonnet, julienne, whatever. Worst case, you end up with a lot of weirdly shaped home fries. Win-win.
Carrots, cucumbers, zucchini also forgiving. Or do the classic “practice onion dicing” session and cry not just from the onion but from the existential despair of how many layers there are. (onions are rude like that.)
the artsy side of all this
Knife cuts aren’t just rules. They’re like brushstrokes. Imagine a salad with giant clunky carrot logs versus one with delicate julienne strips. Same ingredient, totally different vibe. Cuts change the whole *feel* of a dish.
And then there’s garnishes. A chiffonade of basil on pasta feels fresh, alive. A sprinkle of fine brunoise peppers on soup looks like confetti. Presentation isn’t everything, but it sure makes dinner feel like an occasion instead of just “food we’re shoving in our faces.”
closing thoughts (aka ramble mode)
Learning knife cuts isn’t about being perfect. It’s about making your kitchen time easier, safer, prettier. And yeah, sometimes a little impressive. You don’t need to memorize every French name. Start with dice, julienne, mince. Sprinkle in chiffonade when you wanna feel bougie. Build from there.
One day you’ll realize you’re cutting onions without thinking. And they’re all… basically the same size. That’s the moment. That’s when you know you’ve leveled up.
Until then coffee, playlists, pets underfoot, and a stack of veggies to practice on. And maybe a tiny prayer that your knife skills outpace your clumsiness. (mine still hasn’t, but we’re trying.)
