It took me a while to embrace my Southern heritage. Perhaps it is truly that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but after years spent trying to minimize my accent and be perceived as a generically cosmopolitan citizen of the world, pieces of my Tennessee self have become unexpectedly dear to me. For instance, I didn't love bluegrass music until I moved to Boston, and I didn't understand the glory of the iron skillet until I came to California.
In any of my grandmothers' houses, the iron skillet occupies a permanent spot on top of the stove. Used daily and rarely washed, they develop an onyx-black patina and a nearly nonstick surface. Combined with its near-mythic heat retention, suitability on a burner or in the oven, low price, and nigh-indestructibility, it seems strange that I could ignore such a cooking vessel.
Alas, I couldn't see these traits. I associated iron skillets with bacon grease, soggy vegetables, and bland, gray gravy. It was heavy, ugly, and hard to care for. It didn't seem to have a place in my modern kitchen. That is, until, one day last summer when I was craving a hamburger.
As it turns out, my landlord prefers that I do not set up a grill on the stairs on the breezeway, so I needed an alternate method. My mind turned to the long-forgotten iron skillet. On a whim, I bought one, figuring that even if I didn't use it very often, I was out all of $25 dollars. It worked beautifully. The heavy iron got rocket-hot and held onto the heat, even in the face of chilly ground beef. The burgers emerged crust on the outside and rosy within. Better, perhaps, then they might have been grilled.
From there I moved on to flank steak, fajitas, and sea scallops. Armed with my ever-blacker iron skillet, I became a searing machine. In time, it crossed my mind that I might use it to make some of the traditional dishes I'd come to miss out on the West Coast. At Thanksgiving, I made cornbread to crumble into dressing. A few days ago, I developed a craving for the one dish that my kitchen-phobic mother excels at: fried pork chops. I'd recently bought a whole six-pound pork loin on sale and was in search of different ways to prepare it. I'd stir-fried, roasted, and pounded it into scallopini. Why not try it with gravy?
I sliced the chops 3/4 of an inch thick, dusted them in Cajun-seasoned flour, and browned them in my iron skillet. They ended up delicately crisp on the outside, juicy inside, and smothered in thick milk gravy, fragrant with sauteed onions and browned bits. Don't tell my mom, but I think my pork chops might have been even better than hers.
And as it turns out, my iron skillet isn't actually hard to take care of at all. After the initial seasoning, all it usually requires is a rinse with hot water, scrub with a stiff brush, and the occasional rub with oil. Not so much work to make my home here seem a little more like home.
Wow--the picture is beautiful. And also, that button to continue reading, very cool. Thanks for upgrading us Stephen!
This was rather my test post, to see if I could figure out how to work all the features. I've more or less got it figured out. Pictures are a little more involved; more steps but it's the same steps every time, so it's no particular big deal. I'll give you a call tomorrow to talk you through it.