Jacques the Knife, Master Carver

Watching Jacques Tokar carve a pumpkin is a little like watching Martha Stewart hand-stencil a bedroom or bake mincemeat pie from scratch. He makes it look way too easy.

Tokar, 61, is a self-taught carver, and a masterful one at that. He carves just about everything, from apples and chocolate to ice and wood. For 22 years, Tokar worked in the kitchen at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, dazzling restaurant and party guests with his extravagant creations. Now the Frenchman has his own company, Ice & Fruit Carvings by Jacques Tokar.

Earlier this week, in anticipation of Halloween, Tokar taught an “Extraordinary Pumpkin Carving” class at the Sur La Table kitchen store in Santa Monica. About a dozen students each paid $60 for the privilege.

“We’ve been doing elaborate pumpkin carving for years,” said Binnie Bell, a Pacific Palisades resident taking the class with her 17-year-old daughter, Elizabeth. “I wanted to see if there was more I could learn.”

Kristin and Jason Lee’s motives were slightly less noble. “We just bought a house,” said Kristin, 38, a graphic designer, “and we want to have the coolest pumpkin on the block.”

During the first half of the two-hour class, Tokar carved several pumpkins, soliciting suggestions from the students, like a comedian doing improvisations. “Should this be a man or a woman?” he asked. “Do you want a big nose or a small nose?”

As he looked at each pumpkin, he seemed to search for the personality. He didn’t draw the designs before beginning. He just started cutting. He encouraged everyone to do the same. After all, he said, “a pumpkin is not supposed to look so perfect.”

Perhaps the most important message of the evening was the value of good tools, specifically a sharp knife. Tokar uses about a dozen tools. In fact, the demonstration counter where he worked looked much like an operating table. For the bulk of the heavy-duty carving, Tokar, the son of a blacksmith, used a modified chef’s knife, sharpened into a tool that looked more like a skinny boning knife.

He also used a bread knife to remove wide swaths of pumpkin skin, modified apple corers to cut out deep passages, the channel end of a lemon zester to create hair, bamboo skewers to secure features such as ears and hats, wire clippers to trim skewers and a melon baller for pimples. (Just dig out a ball, turn it around, and replace it in the same spot.) This trick was especially popular.

“It was worth it just for the pimple,” said Juliet Biederman, 31, of Santa Monica, an elementary school director. “Sixty bucks for the pimple.”

Tokar prefers not to hollow out his pumpkins. They last longer this way, he insists. (On the other hand, you don’t get the seeds.) And instead of placing a candle inside, he shines a spotlight on his creations. The effect, he thinks, is more dramatic. He also finishes each of his designs with a couple of shots of Pam spray for a translucent sheen.

When it came time for the students to carve their own pumpkins, most everyone dove right in. A few were promptly discouraged, however. “I can’t steer like that!” said Mollie Mitchell, 33, a Santa Monica-based recruiter. “I lost my lip,” cried Biederman. Another woman lost a nose.

Tokar counseled calm. “Don’t panic,” he said. “Just do something else.” In the end, the results were impressive. Binnie Bell created a Halloween night scene with stars and bats and a black cat. Mitchell’s pumpkin featured pimples and a tongue that stuck out. “I used to carve ‘em where you just do a triangle nose and triangle mouth,” said Mitchell, admiring her handiwork. “This is like a Mercedes-Benz. I’ve become a pumpkin snob.”