What I didn't know is that when you buy new cast-iron pots and pans, they aren't ready for use. Actually, first things first, my wife decided to order them online, which seemed like a plan to me--where do you even get cast-iron cookware in Chicago? The gun store? Guns are illegal here!--until it arrived all in one box, which I swear weighed over 100 pounds and I had the pleasure of carrying up 4 floors of stairs. So I got all this stuff upstairs finally and sweatily, and started unpacking it and putting it away. No, no, no says the wife, We have to "season" them first. What the hell? Are we eating the pans? Is this a suicide cult? Do they teach little girls this stuff in home economics in the south? Remember to season your pans! Wouldn't want your collard greens to stick.
So seasoning a pan, how the fuck do you do that? Well, the idea is to slather the thing in fat of some kind (this is one of a southerner's favorite games) and bake the fat into the pan. Again. And again. And again. We did this is mid-summer and had the oven blasting all day. It is wastes of time like this that may be to blame for the confederacy's demise--"these'n guns is ready, Hoss, but we's justa got season 'em first." And then Atlanta was burned to the ground by Sherman. But, the fire helped the seasoning and those guns made some tasty biscuits 'n gravy so it wasn't a total loss.
While you think all our seasoning must have been in vain, because god knows I can't tell a difference, you're wrong. My mother-in-law was in town (crystal meth sales convention) and used the cast-iron cookware. I was brushing my teeth at the time, but heard some commotion in the kitchen and decided to investigate.
"Oh, honey, your cookware is so perfectly seasoned! Its like a 90 year old great-grandmother's!" She was beaming, beside herself over how HER daughter had perfectly seasoned cast-iron. That may be the proudest she has ever been of any of her children. Incidentally, I think most southern 90 year olds are actually great-great-great-great-great-grandmothers, or Eve, take your pick.
Funnier than that, my wife looked and me and said "See, see? I told you I was right to season it," with a look of a prideful child whose parent has just approved of, and validated, their life's work. Apparently, praising another woman's cast-iron seasoning in the south is one of their highest compliments. It is right up there with "your grits are so smooth," "your flag is so big," "your church has a Starbucks!" and "your slaves are so well-behaved."
In all seriousness, I really like cast-iron cookware. I highly recommend it, but I suggest you wait until winter to do the seasoning.
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