I have a love affair.
With my cast iron skillet.
Having no househelp has its benefits.
Having the kitchen to myself is one.
On the rare times when I have the time and inspiration to prepare a proper meal, I thrill at the opportunity to use my cast iron skillet.
It's a heavy pan. Heavy enough to use as a weapon.
I love the weight of it in my hand. Or rather, on two hands. I love how it heats up slowly but surely. I love how it cooks evenly. Love the ssssss ssssss sound the turner makes on its surface as I tease browning garlic or mess up some eggs.
When it's time to wash it, I love its smooth and rough surfaces. The unique grooves only this skillet (my skillet) has. The patches that make maps all over. The sheen it gives off when I wipe off water with a paper a towel. As if it's winking at me, saying, see you soon, sweetheart!