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.
You could still make cornbread. For certain pudgy bloggers that love the stuff.
[...] this point, I get out my one, my only, my constant — my true love. My skillet. It’s time to sear the meat. Bring the skillet to a fairly high temperature, dump butter in, [...]