I was enamored once. I had a crush. I thought, like most men with crushes, that She Was The One. I thought that come whatever, We Two would grow old together, aging gracefully, and sharing a love that endures.
She was the perfect cooking surface. Ah, my sweet Teflon. I brought home the bacon, and she was the pan I fried it up in. The hotcakes like which some things went always went best on Teflon’s smooth skin.
Her smooth skin… so amazing to the touch. It was as if it wasn’t even THERE it was so soft. And when Chupaqueso was but a twinkle in my eye, she was there, ready to bear it through the heat, the turning, the twisting… Teflon bore my child, and I thought we two were forever.
But it couldn’t last. I tried to treat her with care, I was as tender as a man can be, never abrasive, and never EVER using metal utensils. For a while it seemed like we WOULD see forever, but then her skin began to discolor, and my sweet Teflon started to grab things.
I did what I could. I worked around her rough edges, forgiving her the occasional stuck spot. But it only got worse. Her rough edges only got rougher, and Teflon’s smooth skin gave way to bare metal a bit at a time. And one day I realized the two of us were finished. I could no longer trust her to help me with meals, because she just wouldn’t let go of them. She had changed, and what she had become I could no longer abide atop my stove.
I thought about taking a younger bride into my kitchen, one whose Teflon skin was still supple, but the infatuation was gone. After all, I knew that no matter how kindly I treat her, any Teflon I bring home will eventually turn on me, ruining meals and making cleanup a nightmare. Oh, it might be years before that happened, but having seen the past I felt I could see the future, and it held only heartbreak, and stuff stuck to the pan.
Then I met her… Cast Iron. She seemed so ungainly at first. She wasn’t just rough around the edges — she was ALL rough edges, and bare metal ones at that. But she gave me this look, and she promised me that she could do everything teflon could, and that she really COULD do it forever… if only I’d spend a little time at the beginning of our relationship learning to use oil.
I was skeptical, but I got the oil, and my Cast Iron sweetheart and I worked on those rough edges. Two hours and three hundred degrees later I saw that her skin glistened, darkly daring me to TRY to stick something to it. So I did, and it didn’t, and we did it again and again and again. French toast, pancakes, omelettes, and of course fried cheese… she was untiring, and I had a big appetite.
I have a new love. She may look like she’s still a little rough around the edges, but OH! can she ever cook. She’s not as glamorous as Teflon, but she’s beautiful in her own way. And I can see already that she’ll grow more beautiful with time. The first time we made chupaquesos together, it was as if we’d been doing it for years. And the promise of Cast Iron is that we WILL be doing it for years. If I treat her well, breaking out the oil from time to time, and never throwing her in the dishwasher or leaving her outside in the rain, she’ll easily outlive me.
Okay, I’ll admit that it’s a little creepy thinking of my new love, my Cast Iron griddle, cooking with another man. But that’s decades away. When the time comes, I’ll just have to make sure that I find her a man who likes chupaquesos, and who knows how to use the oil.
