Tonight's victuals: pan-seared rib-eye, the best argument I've found for owning a cast-iron skillet. This can be a tricky one if you don't let the steak get up to room temperature first. What would be medium rare ends up just this side of mooooooo.
Cast-iron is not something I grew up with. Most of my parents' cookware was aluminum or Revere-ware stainless-steel with copper bottoms, some of which have been passed along to me. It's great stuff, and I love using it, but for some things cast-iron is simply the best there is. It heats more evenly and stands up to high temperatures well, and just try putting one of your teflon pans in the oven at 500º F. I dare you. I've even done my favorite – if unremarkable – grilled cheese sandwiches on the cast-iron, which is why it's important to keep the skillet extra-clean. Otherwise the bread tends to pick up some of the black nasty stuff that you really don't want to think about.
Cleaning cast-iron and keeping it seasoned is a bit of a bitch – it doesn't like water (iron rusts, you know) and you're supposed to clean it with salt and oil. The salinity kills the bacteria and the oil keeps it from rusting. I find that sometimes a bit of soapy water is necessary to help scrape the gunk off, but it's absolutely essential to oil it down afterwards. As near as I can tell, any cast-iron skillet not rusted through can be resuscitated with a bit of oil and some heat.
When we were in Indiana, I spied some old cast-iron skillets in the garage of Christina's grandmother (affectionately known as "Oma," a German term that goes against the family's Irish heritage – it's a long story). I didn't much feel like hauling a couple of hunks of metal home from Christmas, especially since I already have a couple of my own, but I let it be known that I'd rather find homes for them than see them go to Goodwill. Good cookware should stay in the family, I think.
And just a random thought regarding grilled cheese before I let you go – Christina really prefers the fancy kind with Italian bread, grated cheddar, dijon mustard, and black pepper with olive oil on the bread. Give me the Wonder bread, margarine, and two slices of Velveeta, baby. Food snobs, eat your heart out.
Cast-iron is not something I grew up with. Most of my parents' cookware was aluminum or Revere-ware stainless-steel with copper bottoms, some of which have been passed along to me. It's great stuff, and I love using it, but for some things cast-iron is simply the best there is. It heats more evenly and stands up to high temperatures well, and just try putting one of your teflon pans in the oven at 500º F. I dare you. I've even done my favorite – if unremarkable – grilled cheese sandwiches on the cast-iron, which is why it's important to keep the skillet extra-clean. Otherwise the bread tends to pick up some of the black nasty stuff that you really don't want to think about.
Cleaning cast-iron and keeping it seasoned is a bit of a bitch – it doesn't like water (iron rusts, you know) and you're supposed to clean it with salt and oil. The salinity kills the bacteria and the oil keeps it from rusting. I find that sometimes a bit of soapy water is necessary to help scrape the gunk off, but it's absolutely essential to oil it down afterwards. As near as I can tell, any cast-iron skillet not rusted through can be resuscitated with a bit of oil and some heat.
When we were in Indiana, I spied some old cast-iron skillets in the garage of Christina's grandmother (affectionately known as "Oma," a German term that goes against the family's Irish heritage – it's a long story). I didn't much feel like hauling a couple of hunks of metal home from Christmas, especially since I already have a couple of my own, but I let it be known that I'd rather find homes for them than see them go to Goodwill. Good cookware should stay in the family, I think.
And just a random thought regarding grilled cheese before I let you go – Christina really prefers the fancy kind with Italian bread, grated cheddar, dijon mustard, and black pepper with olive oil on the bread. Give me the Wonder bread, margarine, and two slices of Velveeta, baby. Food snobs, eat your heart out.
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