cast-iron-skillet.jpg  can sometimes set off a chain reaction that slides you right into the field where memories are ripe for the picking.  My two day cleaning jag led me to season my two cast iron skillets.  These skillets have been sitting on the cobalt blue painted wooden floor in front of my ancient looking furnace for the past 14 months.  Every time I looked at these skillets these past months, I have been reminded of how depressed I have been.  I mean, good god woman, when are you gonna season those babies so you can cook some rib splitting good chow.  But day after day, month after month passed by and they just sat there.  Inert.  The smaller one became a receptacle for pennies rolled in brown and red striped paper rolls.  They were part of another unfinished project of actually cashing in the coppery little coins.  Yet, another sign of my gloomy mood, these unfinished and unstarted plans.  But back to the cast iron skillets. 

The larger of the two has a lid and is brand new.  My daughter bought it for me summer before last at a garage sale (aka GS).  It had its stickers still intact and she got a good deal.  My daughter is a veteran GS barterer.  The smaller of the two is still good sized and is not brand new.  My adoptive mother was its owner and now it is mine.  The memories tagged along with this smaller skillet.  Memories of Mama and Daddy, of the Alaskan homestead, Maryland countryside, and my sister and me growing up swirled around in my head and mind’s eye as I tended to this tangible conduit of long ago yesterdays.  It was in this skillet that I fried my first bacon.  I was too short to see above the stove top so I would jump up holding the metal spatula and bring it down to smush the curling strips flat against the black iron skillet bottom.  Jump, smush, sizzle sizzle, jump, smush, sizzle sizzle.  Frying that pan of bacon was my first real solo cooking experience.  I don’t recall eating that particular batch of bacon but I am sure it was tasty. 

After this skillet came to live with me, my SO used it without supervision.  Can you say uh-oh?  Suffice it to say that the skillet ended up in big time trouble, covered in charred on food and rust.  Well no more.  These skillets are now in the oven for their second go round of seasoning.  After the first round, the little guy was still in need of a kosher salt rub down and the big new guy thought a salt scrub sounded too fine to pass up.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he needed it anyway as his cooking surface was still too rough.  (You may have noticed that I assign human qualities to inanimate objects.  I also talk for them.  There is a name for this sort of behavior but it escapes me at the moment). 

So on an unseasonably warm day for the third day of November, the Attic is made even hotter by a 350 degree oven and my soon to be fully seasoned fry pans.  They’re worth it though.  I just know that many good meals will be cooked in them by this well-seasoned cook. 

  ~ [photograph courtesy of Google images]

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