About

I've had a stammer my whole life. Growing up, it was something I wrestled with — knowing exactly what I wanted to say, but feeling the words catch before they came out.

In professional kitchens, that challenge was amplified. Calling orders across a busy pass, leading a team during service, controlling the pace of a high-pressure environment — it forces you to use your voice. There's no hiding in a kitchen. Learning to run service, shout order numbers, and lead from the front despite having a stammer built a level of resilience that shaped who I am.

Later, moving into high-end sales, communication became everything. Speaking with confidence, building relationships, presenting value — all while managing something that once felt like a limitation. Overcoming that didn't just build confidence; it built discipline and mental strength.

When I began forging knives, I recognised a similar lesson in the steel. You can't rush it. You don't fight it. You work with it, patiently and deliberately, finding rhythm and control. In many ways, bladesmithing reflects the same mindset I've developed in life — steady hands, calm focus, and perseverance under pressure.

The name Stammer Knives is about owning that journey. Every blade carries that spirit: resilience, patience, and the belief that what once felt like a weakness can become a defining strength.

I'm Chris and I'm based in Plymouth, on the south coast of Devon.

Before becoming a bladesmith, I spent years working in professional kitchens — progressing to Head Chef level and working in some of the South West's best fine-dining establishments. The industry allowed me to travel the world, but no matter where I was, one thing always mattered to me: my knives. I cared about them more than most chefs I worked alongside. I've always loved the feel of a well-balanced blade, the precision of a clean cut — and I knew first-hand that a good knife makes all the difference.

During Covid, after years of 14-hour days in kitchens, I suddenly found myself with time away from work. I'd always wanted to try making my own knives, so I finally gave it a go — starting with nothing more than a file and a handmade wooden jig. What began as curiosity quickly became something far deeper.

When the world reopened, knife making unfortunately returned to being just a hobby. I went back to kitchen life, and my equipment sat in storage gathering dust. But the idea never left me. It was always there in the back of my mind — the question of whether I should stop building someone else's dream and commit fully to my own.

Eventually, I took the leap — and it was the best decision I've ever made.

Now I forge full time, creating knives shaped by both a chef's experience and a maker's hands. I work alone, by choice. Every blade that leaves my workshop is forged, ground and finished entirely by me. No production lines. No shortcuts. Just steel, fire and the time it takes to do things properly.