One of the things I asked for (and received) for my birthday this year was a Knork. A pack of four Knorks, to be exact.

After seeing this seemingly ridiculous product on television one night, I told Susan I would like to own one. If it worked as advertised, the Knork (part knife, part fork) could be the greatest utensil ever. And if it didn’t … well, we might use it to cut down dad’s Topsy-Turvey Tomato Grower (also “As Seen on TV”) that didn’t produce many tomatoes this past Oklahoma summer.

A Knork differs from a typical fork in two respects. First, the outside two prongs are curved. This allows for a “rocking” motion. And second, the part of the handle nearest the prongs is flat, creating a place for the index finger to rest and apply downward pressure. The outside edges of the Knork are tapered, but are by no means sharp. The Knork cannot cut you … or others, who make fun of it.

On my birthday my dad took my wife and I to Saltgrass Steakhouse for lunch. I brought my Knork with me, and this was the first time I attempted to use it. At Saltgrass, I ordered an 8oz rib eye (medium rare) with five coconut shrimp, a side of mashed potatoes, and a bowl of tortilla soup.

Let’s get the easy ones out of the way: the Knork easily sliced through the mashed potatoes, the shrimp, and the soup.

The Knork’s first real challenge (besides getting its silly name through the marketing department) was the 8oz steak. I started with a smaller-than-bite-sized piece, and much to my amazement, the Knork (with a little bit of rocking) made its way through! Unfortunately this was a pretty thick steak, and rocking my way through the entire thing proved to be difficult. The Knork made its way through the meat okay, but the medium-rare pockets of fat stopped the Knork flat. About three bites in, I was back to using my knife.

The most awkward part of the meal (surprisingly) wasn’t using the Knork, but leaving with it. The Knork looks enough like a normal restaurant fork that from five feet away, the two are indistinguishable. When the waiter came by to pick up our plates, he reached for my Knork before I snatched it.

“Oh, that’s mine,” I said. He looked at me, incredulously. “Oh, it’s a Knork,” I said, explaining the concept to the waiter as Susan and my Dad took turns rolling their eyes at me.

“But does it work well?” he asked.

“Meh.”

On Knork’s home page, Knork.net (which is kind of fun to say), you can not only order Knorks, but read all about the history of the product on the site’s about page. Then, on that page, there’s this picture:

That’s a picture of a Knork, slicing right through a … pear. Pears aren’t really known for their inability to be cut, are they? I mean, I could see it if it were a whole pineapple, but a pear?

Ultimately, therein lies the problem. In the Knork’s PR materials, it says “[the] Knork is not meant to replace the knife, but rather work as a better performing fork.” That, I cannot dispute; I do believe that the Knork functions as a better-performing knife. The problem lies in the fact that it’s called Knork, an obvious conglomeration of KNife and fORK. The name itself implies that it combines the functionality of those two utensils into one.

I do honestly think that the Knork works better than the average fork. I can see how its tapered and curved edge would help you cut through food more easily, as opposed to a fork which just mashes its way through. If I had a choice between using a fork and a Knork, I would pick the Knork.

That being said, a box of four Knorks will set you back $30. On top of that, there’s the whole awkwardness about taking your own silverware to restaurants. (Actually, I found leaving with the silverware a much more awkward experience. Even when you know its yours, there’s nobody in the restaurant that doesn’t think you’re stealing a fork. It’s too bad the Knork doesn’t come in some unique color or something to differentiate it from average restaurant cutlery.) I could see those two things prohibiting the Knork from gaining mass appeal: the cost, and the act of carrying silverware around with you.

Oh, make that three things; I forgot that the Knork doesn’t replace knives.