A Knife Shop Between Lectures

The thing about TomatoSharp is that it sounds made up when you explain it too quickly.

A medical student develops an obsession with Japanese knife sharpening during the pandemic. His girlfriend starts helping with the marketing. Their friends get involved. At some point there's a one-square-metre shed, a grandfather's workbench, and a bicycle carrying kitchen knives across Trondheim. Somehow, this becomes a business.

David Phan and Ingrid Kregnes are both studying medicine at NTNU, which is already an ambitious use of one’s calendar before Japanese knife sharpening enters the plot. Around them is a loose constellation of students, friends, partners and family members helping run workshops, pack orders, sell knives and sharpen blades. It feels like a company assembled through group chats, favors, enthusiasm and someone saying, “I’d be happy to help.”

The story begins in David’s parents’ garage during the pandemic.

"In the beginning, it was just me and Ingrid with a couple of sharpening stones working out of my parents' garage during the pandemic."

Before knives, there were watches. Rolex watches, specifically, which feels like the sort of detail that only becomes important later. David had already found his way into work where precision is the whole point, where noticing the tiny things other people miss is basically the job. Then the pandemic happened, he started cooking more at home, and his brother sent him a few YouTube videos about Japanese knife sharpening.

Most people would have watched the videos, maybe admired the technique, and gone back to whatever they were doing. David ordered sharpening stones. Not long after, he was biking around Trondheim collecting kitchen knives, sharpening them, and returning them himself, as if this were a normal thing for a medical student to be doing between lectures. Looking at TomatoSharp now, it is tempting to imagine there was some kind of plan. There was not. There was a shed, a workbench his grandfather had built, and an unusual amount of curiosity.

The first restaurant customer was Sabrura.

"My sharpening wasn't great. I didn't realize it until my first restaurant customer, Sabrura. I delivered them as usual, but the next day I got a call saying they weren't sharp enough. I panicked and spent three days fixing one blade."

It's not the kind of story most people put on the front page of their website. Which is probably why it's memorable.

"That's when I realized knife sharpening is truly an art form. It takes practice, failure, and persistence."

After two years of working mostly on his own, David added a mail-in service. Then the knives started arriving from places he had never biked to. What began as a very specific interest in Trondheim was suddenly finding its way into kitchens across Norway.

At first, Ingrid had the reasonable reaction of someone whose boyfriend, a medical student, had decided knife sharpening was now a real vibe.

"At first I wasn't sure about David's plan. Riding around Trondheim sharpening knives sounded so random, but I supported him."

Fair enough. A medical student biking around Trondheim collecting knives does sound like the sort of thing you support first and fully understand later. Before long, Ingrid was writing newsletters, running social media, shaping the story around the work, and helping customers find their way into a world David had already disappeared into completely.

"We're both studying medicine at NTNU and running TomatoSharp at the same time. The rest of our team are also students and apprentices in various fields."

The team around TomatoSharp seemed to gather the way friend groups sometimes do: slowly, casually, and then somehow all at once.

Tommy Høgseth is studying electrical engineering and sustainable energy at NTNU.

"I'm venturing into entrepreneurship and David has been a huge influence on that decision. He's always one step ahead and his passion is contagious."

Marie Ringen is studying to become a teacher.

"We're all students and we do this because we want to. It's not our main source of income. I'm studying at NTNU to be a teacher, focusing on English and sociology. I joined because of my boyfriend, Alejandro, who is also on the team. But I love the work because of the people, they’re such a kind, inclusive team."

TomatoSharp had the kind of team that would be hard to assemble on purpose. A future engineer, a future teacher, two medical students, partners, siblings, friends. People arrived through someone they knew and stayed because the whole thing had a certain pull. Not exactly a traditional company structure, which was probably for the best.

The deeper David and Ingrid got into the world of Japanese knives, the more they found themselves booking flights to Japan.

"Japanese knives are made in small family-run workshops and the craft is usually passed down through generations. One person makes the blade, another sharpens it. There's a whole process and expertise behind each element."

In Japan, the workshops were smaller than you’d expect. Not factories. Not production lines. More like family businesses tucked away somewhere quiet, where one person might spend decades doing one part of the process beautifully. One pair of hands forged the blade. Another sharpened it. Another fitted the handle. By the time a knife made its way to Trondheim, it had already lived several small lives.

Back in Trondheim, chefs became some of TomatoSharp's earliest supporters.

"We had to figure out who our customers were in Trondheim, chefs or home cooks. Starting with chefs made sense. They're the most particular about knives, and the knife is a chef's most important tool. Gaining their trust has been incredibly rewarding."

That trust travelled surprisingly fast through restaurant kitchens. One chef told another. Knives came in from across Trondheim, including Michelin Star kitchens, and sharpening started to seem less like a niche service than a quiet standard among people who care deeply, perhaps obsessively, about their tools.

"Working with restaurants taught me how personal chefs' knives are to them and how many chefs don't actually know how to sharpen properly. That's why we started running workshops every two weeks. They've become really popular."

Around the same time, TomatoSharp opened a pop-up shop in Bakklandet. The idea came from Ingrid.

"On the way back from Japan, we were tight on money but had big orders coming in. Ingrid called around and found a space, and within two days we had a shop set up. On our first Saturday, we sold around 50 knives. It was incredible."

The timing felt like a bit of a stretch. But then again, so had most things up to that point.

"The pop-up wasn't about being overly serious. It was about having fun and showing who we are before opening our flagship store."

For a while, the little “Knivsjappa” in Bakklandet became the offline version of TomatoSharp. A knife shop, yes, but also somewhere to ask questions, learn something oddly specific, and leave with a sharper knife than the one you came in with.

"What's special about TomatoSharp is how much they care, not just about the knives but about us and our business," says Mette Beate Julius Evensen from LeBistro. "They have so much respect for each knife. They never rush the job and they sharpen with real feeling and attention to detail, so the knife is at its best without losing its character."

For David, the knives have always been part of a bigger story.

"We also love to support small Japanese workshops by selling their knives and educating people on the value of craftsmanship so they can care for these knives for years."

Looking at TomatoSharp now, with a flagship store at Teknobyen on the horizon, it would be easy to make the story about growth. But the better version is still the smaller one: a medical student, a bicycle, a shed behind his parents’ house, a grandfather’s workbench, and a handful of friends who said yes before the whole thing made complete sense. Somehow, it still feels like it began exactly where it should have.