I bought my cast-iron skillet back in November last year. I brought it home to my first kitchen-for-me, all mine, only to get lost in transit when I moved to Atlanta. A lot of thought had gone into picking it – it was a pre-seasoned Lodge 12” skillet with rivets. I read brand reviews by chefs I follow to blogs from Google search. I made a list of all the flat bottomed pans I own and their diameters to decide what would make most sense to add to my cookware. I read articles about which size suited a kitchen where you cooked mostly for one but occasionally for more, based on how often you bake, fry, sear and roast. After weeks of research I placed an online order and picked it up on a weekday after work.
I’d been cooking for myself for a while and I have dabbled in cooking here and there before, but somehow I felt elevated to a bonafide homechef with my own skillet. I told my mom it was supposed to last long enough to get passed down generations. Of course she already knew that. I showed it off to my friend’s mom when she visited me, she loved cookware herself, and I showed her the picture of the Dutch oven I wanted to buy next. I truly was a proud skillet mom.
To further season the skillet I “cured” it for an hour in the oven (I remember reading bake the skillet in the oven and wondering – bake with what in it though?), and then ate bacon for breakfast everyday the first week. I jotted down Cast Iron: Wash. Dry. Oil on the whiteboard on my fridge as if I was worried I’d forget the few steps or mix up their order. For the first three months I would towel-dry my skillet after washing so I could oil it immediately after. I treated it like a baby and relished the three-step ritual. Later I started letting it air-dry.
The first time I prepared a baingan bharta in it I didn’t transfer it until a few hours later. There were broken orange wave-stains on the pan so I never let anything sit in it for long after that. Thoran always tasted better when I prepared it in the skillet in low-medium heat, and I didn’t have to add any oil. Pancakes, not one of my favorite things to eat, would turn a perfect brown in that pan. I slowly got the hang of how soon the iron would heat up and how long I had to keep the stove on.
Finally, back in April earlier this year, I wrapped it in brown packing paper, secured it with a thick rubber band and placed it in a Home Depot shipping box. Abhiram helped me load the boxes and we shipped it off at Fedex on a weekday afternoon to Atlanta. The box arrived here but I later found the skillet missing.
Now it’s gone, so today I fried my bacon in my once non-sticky pan (it’s 8”). I don’t own a 10” skillet or a 10” pan anymore. Life goes on, I guess. I still have a kitchen of my own, so maybe I’ll bring home another cast iron skillet soon.
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