In an old kitchen drawer, among yellowed napkins and stray cutlery, suddenly appear some objects that don’t resemble anything we use today. Thin, shiny, with sharp tips like mini-spears. Next to them, a solid, heavy metal “tongs”, which seems made to withstand stubbornness. And then comes the question that grips you:  why would someone keep something like that carefully, for years?

At a quick glance, they look like work tools or parts of a medical kit. At a closer look, they have something… domestic about them. As if they were kept handy during long evenings, when time wasn’t measured in notifications, but in leisurely stories told.

“What are these little tools, like forks? Why do they look like miniature swords?”

A drawer, a few objects and a question

The first reaction is to turn them over on all sides: thin metal rods, with narrow, sometimes slightly curved tips; a sturdy device that closes with pressure; and in some sets there is also a wooden container, with small holes, like a support. Nothing “explains” from the beginning what they were used for, but that’s exactly what makes you not put them down.

In grandparents’ drawers, things didn’t just sit there by chance. If an object stayed there, it meant it had a repeated purpose.  Used often , washed, put back, taken out again. And, more importantly, shared with others at the table.

Beyond their shape, there’s also the way they “demand” a ritual: they’re not made for rushing. They suggest slow, precise movements, the kind of gestures you learn from someone older, with  “watch your fingers”  said in a calm tone.

How are they used and why did they remain in homes?

These sets had a simple logic: one object for strength, another for finesse. The heavy, pincer-like piece squeezed without scattering everything; the thin rods entered narrow spaces, where no ordinary fork could reach. That is why they often appear in stories about winter evenings, when the family sat at the table or by the stove, with a bowl in which the leftovers were collected, and everyone patiently “worked” their portion.

What did they do, specifically? In many homes, they were tied to  hard shells  and cores that are not easily given away. In others, they were brought out on special occasions, when things that hide “goodness” in the cracks arrived on the table: pieces that are difficult to unwrap, portions that are carefully earned. This made them remain relevant for a long time, even after modern, “ready-made” versions appeared.

And yes, the surprise is that they are not just relics. If you still have them around the house, they are perfect for those moments when you want to waste nothing: to remove leftover pieces, to clean delicately, to detach the good part without destroying it. In the kitchen, a thin tip can become an unexpected help; on evenings with rich dishes, it even becomes the “secret weapon” that everyone notices.

The objects in the drawer are, in fact, a  vintage set of nutcracker and  nut picks, once used to open walnuts, hazelnuts, chestnuts or pecans and to remove the kernels from the narrowest corners, and in many families it also played a role at seafood meals, where the same finesse helps remove the meat from hard-to-reach places.