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Pulse. Mix. Blend. By any other name, Cuisinart-ing an ingredient -- known to some as 'cuisin' the juice' -- is one of the most crucial kitchen skills that gets overlooked by the kind of cheapskates that we typically run with.

Knives? Sure. Cutting boards, measuring cups, oven mitt or even cast-iron skillets: most hip, ragamuffin households can justify investing a couple cool Andrew Jacksons in these kind of tools or at least scavenging for solid hand-me-downs. But an immersion blender? handheld mixer? a Cuisinart on a stick? Both of us have independently of one another braved the William-Sonoma showroom to buy one.

The handheld mixed might not seem particularly essential, but it is. Just look at our last dozen recipes; we guarantee half of them rely on pulsing, or mixing, or blending. Lately it's been stuff like toasted nuts and homemade grilled salsas. The implement was damn near indispensable for our last wedding menu. In the last week alone, here are a couple un-blogged foods we pureed the shit out of with one: tomatillo-agave nectar salsa, kombocha-ginger squash soup, black bean-habanero hummus.

And we've owned two different brands, so first a product warning and then the payload, product placement: the Russell Hobbs hand mixer served us well in dressings, soups and sorbets. RIP Russell, but you have to admit you kinda pussed out on us. "Russel" joined Alex's arsenal about 2 years ago on his birthday. Impulse buy. And at $100, not a cheap one either. But for almost a year Russell was our go-to guy. Sleek and aerodynamic, this mixer has super sharp steel blades and 3-speeds for versatility. We got a lot of pureed soups out of him. Then his speed button came off. We spent the last few months of Russell's life cautiously poking our finger into the hole where his rubber button was ripping, always a little scared that we'd get shocked by touching our skin directly on the electronic gizmo behind the magic. Last week, Russell passed out while blending a Japanese green-house, heirloom tomato into a summer tomato water.

The upshot is that Evan has since welcomed the Cuisinart CSB-77 into his cupboard. At $49, this guys is way less sticker-shockfull to the skimping hippy. This handheld mixer is one speed fits all so there's less flex, but the things is so far (knock on wood) more trusty and enduring. Since it's a Cuisinart it also comes with rad attachments, most importantly an actual food processor that snaps on. Any time you see shredded nuts, you know how we're doing it.

Maybe wait until that big overtime check comes in or whatever, but if you're fan of textures, do yourself a favor and splurge on a handheld mix'a. There is only one downside, you can't really hotknife the things.

If you couldn't tell by now we're a little into cutlery. And although we share steel like some people swap spit, we definitely have different preferences in the Cut Department. Here's a rundown of the three most used blades in Alex's kitchen...

Being a huge subscriber to Yuself Islam's previous incarnation, this knife is the first and fondest in my little collection. A 10" Messermister Park Plaza that had survived almost six years of use, this knife was given to me by my sweetheart as a first-serious-birthday present. This knife is a no frills workhorse: it holds an egde and has a thin but super durable blade thats gone through countless celeriac.

The trend of using Japanese style knifes is pretty goddamn valid. And while this Santoku style blade is made by a one of the least hghly regarded blade crafters of Germany, Henckels, it has stood the test of time. The blade itself is hollow, and those little grooves are like speed holes that kick whatever your slicing away from the blade. Excellent for all purpose dicing, trimming melons, and detail work that you dont use a pairing knife for, this Target buy was a no brianer at $30.00 in 2004, and it still is.

A recent lust for breadbaking prompted me finally buckling and getting a serated blade. Just like the garlic press, lots of cooks have some strange chip on their shoulder about serrated knives. But like the nonsensical garlic press denial, the end fo the serrated doldrums is a happy thing. This one is part of the Wustof Cordon Bleu series: knives crafted form a single piece of steel. The recessed blade mades cutting board knuckle blisters a thing of the past and lets you cut bread like you wanna.

In the next installment of our introspective equipment analysis, we're detailing the knives that make both of us tick, because we believe the easiest first step to good cooking is sharp knives. If you're weary of shiny, sharpened steel, believe this: You will cut yourself worse on a dull knife. First we'll take a look at Evan's arsenal. We'll show off Alex's preferred weapons later this week...

Though we rarely do so on the Internet, we have to explain the double entendre of the name 'Hot Knives' all the time (most recently to my boss). Obvious perhaps in its drug vehicle reference, it loosely derives from one unfortunate experience I had with an old roommate misusing my knives.

The first serious blade I was gifted came from a guy I worked the line with in a coffee-shop bistro. Doug was a 30-something ex-marine (with black forefingers from chain smoking in the brig and everything) and a one-time banker who hated his life until he went to culinary school. So it was a sweet gesture when Doug gave me a simple, wood-handle Japanese vegetable and fish knife. One morning, when I woke up to a particularly messy house-party aftermath I found it a charred and stuck in a tree. My roommate had used it to smoke hash, burning the blade into a gasoline-colored mess. Around this time Alex and I pledged to take better care of our cooking instruments. Since then, I've invested in a concise collection of cutters that I feel does the trick without going over board.

Think of the 10-inch as your inevitable 'Holy shit, this squash is huge' kinda knife, something that will cut through enormous things and stay sharp with some minor pamperin'. My 10-inch is a relatively bare bones Wustoff Grand Prix II. A straight shooter with a very negligible angle on it, this monster feels like you could carve a ham hock with it, but has the precision to slice garlic if you're too lazy to reach for a different tool. The textured black plastic handle welcomes athletic chopping and hacking both. As my 'driver,' in golf terminology, I find myself puling it out for two reasons: items that demand a little dominating, or to impress guests.

Technically 26-centimeters, I'm pretty sure this roughly translates to 7 inches. It's the classic Japanese-style sushi blade for slicing, dicing and mincing. So it makes sense that Alex and I both swear by these more manageable, all purpose steels. Consistently ranked in the top of the charts as far as knife geekiness and consumer reports-style testing, Global makes some of the best knives on the market. And this size is where they really shine. Stainless steel, including the dot-perforated handle for grippiness, this Santoku knife is easily the go-to in my kitchen. All purpose and easy to forget you're holding.

There are dozens of knife sizes in between the 10 and the 3-inch, but I see them mostly as window dressing. Besides a serrated knife, which is essential if you're baking at all, I really only use the above instruments. The only time I reach for something else is when I'm dealing with minutia, little tasks, like slicing exceptionally tiny garlic cloves or whittling out walnuts from their shell. That's where the 8-centimeter Wustoff classic comes in handy. It's the only knife in my collection with the standard, black coated handle with the 3-dot design. It's hooked tip is great for wiggling free avocado flesh or burning through the smaller sized shallots. It's also easy on the knife-skills challenged who prefer its appearance of safety.

To be continued...