The skillet breach
I’ve made no secret of my dread of cooking on this blog. But we’ve touched little on, ahem, accessories.
AND I LIKE IT THAT WAY.
I’m not a foodie, and I don’t want gadgets like cookie and garlic presses, bread machines or, God forbid, a Kitchen-Aid stand mixer. I don’t even have fine china.
It took several years, but I finally got rid of the egg cooker, rice steamer and waffle iron well-meaning folks have given us. God bless ’em, but one little pot does all of these things just as well and takes up a lot less space. And if you want waffles that damn bad, go to IHOP.
Let me just cut to the chase: I am really neurotic about my countertops. I want them clean and clear. Even the coffee maker is mounted.
Dear, dear, dear.
What’s wrong with that, you ask?
Everything!! It took a lot of doing some years back to relegate the gluttonous Dutch Oven to its forever home in the pantry. In case you don’t know, a Dutch Oven is a gigantic cast iron pot that weighs about forty pounds and comes with more instructions than a newborn. You have to season it, scrape it, blah, blah, blah. You can’t wash it with soap; it’s a total pain in the ass. And if you have back problems like I do, go ahead and plug in the heating pad if you’re even thinking of lifting it.It’s a beast!
The cast-iron skillet is the Dutch Oven’s only slightly less annoying cousin. And, according to my husband, eating from one will boost your iron levels. I had to call BS on that one. I still haven’t googled it, but I’m betting I’m right.
Like the D.O., this too has to be babied, seasoned, scraped, wiped down, whatever. I will admit the food Jerry’s cooked in it so far is outstanding. But he lets the skillet sit afterward. And sit. And sit. Apparently, it’s curing or doing whatever it does. And each pass through the kitchen I eye it’s greasy bottom, it’s mere presence on the stovetop. Ugh.
“I will take care of it,” he says when I complain.
And he does. Eventually.
I have plans for the skillet.
It may bunk up with its cousin in the pantry. Or join the chafing dish still loitering above the refrigerator. One day the time will be right.
I’m a patient woman.