cast-iron joy

Some people post pictures of their kids. Well, I’ve got a cast-iron skillet. Lovingly raised for 8 years on a steady diet of porkfat and beef, it’s only had one close call with a dish-soap incident and a few minor rustings. It’s had a good life. There’s nothing quite like washing it off after use and seeing the gunk slide right off and the water bead up on that beautiful black sheen. It’s a work of art.

It’s a shame that I never eat corn-bread (girl’s gotta watch her figure), because this thing, combined with the vast quantities of bacon grease in my freezer, could be a serious cornbread factory force of nature.

Yes, I have what you may call an unnatural affection for my skillet.