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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.

The dreary weather persists. Wet feet are all the rage, or at least the inevitable result of leaving the house. The other result, at least around my place, are rich, slow-cooked dishes that warm the tummy and fortify against the rain. I have simmered, stewed, slow-roasted, and braised until I worry that my Le Creuset Dutch oven may collapse from exhaustion.

And let me, for a moment, sing the praises of that very extraordinary cooking vessel. Nothing is better suited for gentle, moist cooking than enameled cast iron. Its smooth interior is pleasantly stick-resistant, yet it develops truly superior fond when meat is browned in it. The lid fits tightly, sealing in moisture, and the dense, heavy cast-iron absorbs the heat and releases it back into the food with consummate care. Its cheerily colored exterior brightens up even the grayest winter day. Chicken thighs and cubes of pork shoulder emerge tender and infused with flavor. My enameled cast iron Dutch oven is one of my most useful, most prized tools in my kitchen. Indeed, it was an investment, but since I fully expect my heirs to fight over it at my funeral, I believe it was totally worth the price.

Stephen and I had a rare day off together today. We lounged, snacked and cuddled in our pajamas. Tonight I made a rich Bolognese sauce that simmered for about two hours. It smelled so good I expected my neighbors to knock on the door, hoping for a taste. The recipe follows (with the standard caution that I'm not always great at exact quantities). Expect more of my recent slow-cooked creations in the days to come.

Rigatoni with Bolognese Sauce

1 pound ground chuck
1/2 pound ground pork
3 slices bacon, diced
1/2 cup finely chopped celery
1/2 cup finely chopped carrot
1 medium onion, finely chopped
4 cloves of garlic, minced
8 ounces cremini mushrooms, chopped
1/2 ounce dried porcini mushrooms soaked in about 3/4 cup boiling water, finely chopped with 1/2 of the liquid reserved
1 cup milk
1 cup red wine
1 14.5 ounce can diced tomatoes
2 1/2 cups tomato puree (no salt added is best)
1 cup low-sodium chicken or beef stock
1 generous teaspoon each dried thyme and oregano
2 bay leaves
pinch dried red pepper flakes
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 cup heavy cream
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
1 1/5 pound rigatoni

Heat a heavy Dutch oven over medium-high heat and add the ground chuck and pork. Season with salt and pepper and cook until all the pink is gone. Drain the meat in a colander and set aside. Turn down the heat to medium and cook the bacon until it starts to get crisp. Add the onion, celery and carrot to the bacon fat. Sprinkle lightly with salt and saute about 10 minutes until the vegetables are very soft and starting to turn golden. Add the garlic and cremini mushrooms and saute until the most of the mushroom liquid has evaporated, about another 5-10 minutes.

Return the meat to the pan, add the thyme, oregano, pepper flakes, bay leaves, and a few grinds of pepper. Add the milk and cook until most of it has evaporated. Next add the wine and also cook until almost dry. Pour in the diced tomatoes, tomato puree, stock, the reserved porcini soaking water, and add the cinnamon and nutmeg.

Bring to a boil and simmer, stirring occasionally, about two hours or until the sauce is very thick. Stir in the cream and balsamic vinegar, taste for salt and pepper. Cook the rigatoni and toss it all together. Garnish with chopped basil or parsley and grate on some parmesan.