The Guitar Man stepped effortlessly into a new role as Domestic Deity today as he manned-up to clean the cast iron griddle that came with our new stove. After composing the world’s most delicious omelet for breakfast, we were confronted with a cleaning challenge. I usually take over the clean-up, and I’ve never had a problem cleaning other cast iron pans with a combo of kosher salt and elbow grease, but this eggy mess was wearing me down and postponing my return to procrastinating over my NaNoWriMo WIP. So, chivalrous as always, he left his iPad golf game to tag team me at the sink.
Cast iron is an enigma: You can’t use soap on it…. so it defies all cleanliness logic.
Cast iron is the maestro of all cooking tools: The older it gets, the better it performs.
Cast iron conducts heat like nobody’s business. If you like it hot, this pan is for you. Those who know the Guitar Man know his philosophy: if your food isn’t engulfed in flames to rival the fires of Hell, it’s not cooking. Or it certainly isn’t cooking fast enough.
Cleaning cast iron is a form of meditation. You are so focused on getting the gunk off that you can only be in the moment.
I dare you to name anything more Zen than cast iron.
BTW — boiling some water on the surface of the griddle seemed to do the trick. So tomorrow, pancakes anyone?