As a sourdough enthusiast, I used to dread slicing my freshly baked loaves—until this manual bread slicer entered my kitchen. The first time I cranked the handle through a crusty sourdough boule, it glided like a hot knife through butter, leaving behind perfectly even slices that made my previous jagged attempts laughable.

The adjustable thickness knob is genius. For brunch, I dial it down to 0.2 inches for delicate smoked salmon tea sandwiches. When French toast cravings hit, I crank it up to the full 0.78 inches for pillowy slabs that soak up custard beautifully. The stainless steel blade stays frighteningly sharp—I actually gasped when it cleanly sliced through a chilled block of aged cheddar during charcuterie board prep.

What surprised me most was how this became my kitchen's workhorse beyond bread. It dices tomatoes with surgical precision (no more squished slices!), shaves prosciutto paper-thin, and even tackles dense banana bread without crumbling. The suction cups create an almost comical level of stability—I once had to pry the base off my quartz countertop after an enthusiastic slicing session.

Yes, it demands counter real estate, but the vintage brass-and-walnut design makes it look like a functional sculpture rather than an appliance. Every guest asks about it, and I love demonstrating how the smooth gear mechanism turns what used to be a chore into something oddly therapeutic. For anyone who bakes regularly or just appreciates perfect slices (and intact fingertips), this slicer isn't just convenient—it's downright joyful to use.