Are we defined by our odd quirks, or do they simply reveal part of the shape of our soul? I have quite a cast iron selection and often extol the virtues of the cookware. Many have told me that they prefer the simple, straightforward nature of non-stick cookware to cooking on, and caring for a 5 pound hunk of metal.
I have many pieces but commonly use a small fajita skillet and as well as two 10.5 inch skillets.
Of these, I remember their histories. One skillet I inherited from my great grandmother thru my grandmother. It’s mirror smooth bottom has cooked countless pones of cornbread and sets of biscuits. In older days, I’m told they cast the iron differently giving it a smoother finish. Whether this is true, or a century of scrubbing the base led to its smoothness, I do not know.
The fajita skillet was given to me by my mom. It was bought unseasoned, and remained so for years, picking up rust. I spent a long time scrubbing it with sea salt chunked onto half a potato (this method really works), scrubbed in circles until the whole surface was a slurrry of brown goo.
I have found seasoning cast iron is easier done on a grill, where ventilation is less of a concern.
Years of caring for these, they become more like pets or children. When you hear "it’s just too much trouble", it’s almost like someone has told you your child is ugly or a brat.
What does loving cast iron say about the shape of my soul? Was burning food due to cooking on lower thermal mass simply a “red pilling” on cookware, or is there something very fire loving and primal in my soul that prefers the old ways?