This is like how David Denby and Anthony Lane can't write one New Yorker best films of the year column...
These are the real things you need. And, these are, for all intents and purposes, single items instead of single categories like "knives" or "utensils."
1) small chef's knife (less than 8" so it can double as a paring knife without risking a major injury).
2) serrated knife (imagine slicing bread or tomatoes with anything else...disastre!)
3) large skillet (preferably non-stick but good quality non-stick so you don't wind up sterile).
4) dutch oven. (what she said).
5) colander (unless you want to remove pasta from boiling water with your bare hands)
6) baking pan (she called this a jelly roll pan, because she is pretentious...like david denby)
7) prep bowl (plastic with a spout so you can pour stuff out of it; you don't need three. you need one)
8) silicone spatula
9) measuring cups (spoons are good too but you can use normal spoons in a pinch or to measure a pinch...)
10) cutting board. big. bamboo. no plastic crap because it dulls knives and harbors germs unless you want to use bleach on a regular basis, which you don't (unless you're vp who once bleached everything in her house, including her cat).
see, ten things. just ten. if you want eleven, buy a good pepper grinder. pre-ground pepper is basically dirt that comes in a metal tin.
Showing posts with label equipment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label equipment. Show all posts
31 January 2010
10 items or less
VP's query about the must-have equipment to keep in a small kitchen prompted lots of conversation. J and I have really thought about it and we're finally prepared to share our MUST-HAVE list.
1. Le Creuset 5 QT+ Dutch Oven. On low heat in the oven, this turns into a crock pot. And you can bake incredibly good no-knead bread in it. So, this is pretty much my desert island cookware. (Incidentally, Cook's Illustrated just rated the Tramontina pot here as a good budget alternative to LC, but, seriously, fraus, a LC dutch oven is something you owe yourself).
2. Ideally, you'd want saute pan AND a cast-iron skillet. If you were really pressed for space, I'd say you should go with the saute alone. Get a Lodge cast iron skillet and just season that thing well enough to cook eggs in. (Not hard to do as we've discussed).The saute pan is perfect for pasta dinners for two as well as any kind of roast or braise you might want to make.
3. Obviously, unless you really ARE on a desert island, you'd want some sauce pots. We have a variety of stainless steel and copper pots. As you weed out your collection, keep in mind these three requirements: 1) make sure they nest for easy storage; 2) make sure the lids exist and fit properly; 3) make they don't have burn spots that you can't get off no matter how much elbow grease and steel wool you use.
4. Knives. I can hardly keep this list to 10 items if I include knives, but I'll try. You absolutely MUST HAVE GOOD QUALITY KNIVES if you really want to be frau. I tried, for years, to avoid spending $$$ on knives and it was all folly. Now, that I've dropped a few hundred bucks on a coupld of excellent knives and now that someone in my house keeps them sharp, I am happier, shinier, thinner, and have tons more energy! So, which ones do you need to invest in: 1) chef's knife or santoku; 2) serrated bread knife; 3) paring knife. These are the knives I simply could not live without. We have a GORGEOUS Mac chef's knife (what a gift, thank you, Tom!!!!), a relatively good serrated knife whose brand I can't remember, a Wustof santoku, and a Sabatier paring knife. Here is the best knife store on the web. Of these, here is my favorite. I use this little guy so often, he is so perfectly suited to my hand, we love each other, etc. Here is an excellent guide to knives from Cook's Illustrated, for those who need a little advice on what knife does what in the kitchen. The big thing with knives is 1) use your sharpening steel often (every couple of uses); and, 2) take high-quality knives to a professional sharpener at least once a year if not twice a year. We have someone here in Lawrence who does this for $2 a knife. Brilliant. If you have trouble finding someone, you can generally ask the manager at your local Williams & Sonoma or somesuch for advice. But dull knives are useless and dangerous. A bad combination.
5. Assorted utensils. Again, keeping this meta-list to 10 items is obviously impossible so I'm collapsing utensils into one category. I'd say, a strong wooden spoon, a fish turner (great for flipping eggs and anything else delicate--this is my favorite utensil), a silicone spatula, and a whisk are pretty essential in my book. The whisk can, in a pinch, be replaced by a fork. Just like this:
can be replaced with this:
In short, find a place to put a damn whisk.
6. Bowls. You need bowls. One big one that you can use for salad and for baking. And, a few smaller ones. Buy stainless steel. It isn't pretty but in terms of versatility, you cannot go wrong. For example, a stainless steel bowl put over a simmering pot of water is a double-boiler. You could technically do that with pyrex but stainless steel is lighter, easier, and won't ever break.
7. A pizza stone. I know. This is thinking outside the box. But, if you are doing any serious baking at all, you want a pizza stone. Hands down. And they are cheap. Here is ours.
8. Jelly roll pan. This is the most important pan in your cupboard. Obviously, you can use it for cookies. You can also use it to make delicious Sicilian style pizza (recipe on frau from last year). But, flip it over, toss some cornmeal on top, and you have yourself a pizza peel, which you will need if you ever want to bake naan, thin crust pizza, pita breads, etc.
9. Food processor. Get a good one. Don't fuck around with a mini-food processor just because you have a small kitchen. Seriously, if you own a mini-food processor, you are that:
The mighty food processor is the kitchen device that most separates the fraus from the rest. You can do almost anything in it. It will take up space but it's worth it. This thing can stand in for a mixer, a blender, a grater, a salad shooter, whatever. It will mix bread dough, pasta dough, cookie dough, etc. Get it with all the blades. Buy yourself a plastic tub with a lid. Put the accessories in the tub. Wipe the machine down with a moist sponge after each use. Love it. Care for it. You need this. Really, you do.
10. Finally, we could not live without our kitchen scale. Michael Ruhlman is an evangelist about this and if you have read his new book "Ratio," you will understand why. Here is his rationale. We believe it. We have a scale and use it for everything from baking to portion control.
And that rounds out the list. I am sure I left things out and this really is painful because my kitchen is the best-furnished room in my house. I have pretty much everything you could need to start a five-star restaurant on that desert island. I do have a few rules though, and perhaps these can guide you even if you inch up past the 10 essentials...
The first rule is: don't buy something that only has one use unless you really do a lot of that thing. Our ice cream maker, for example.
The second rule is: don't buy anything sold through an infomercial. No matter how useful it may seem, believe me, it won't be. You do not need a pan full of edge brownies. That's not how God intended brownies to be and deep down in your heart, you know that.
The third rule is: don't buy cheap shit. Buy things that you intend to care for and keep well into the future.
With that, dear fraulets, I bid you adieu for another week. Next time: reader questions.
1. Le Creuset 5 QT+ Dutch Oven. On low heat in the oven, this turns into a crock pot. And you can bake incredibly good no-knead bread in it. So, this is pretty much my desert island cookware. (Incidentally, Cook's Illustrated just rated the Tramontina pot here as a good budget alternative to LC, but, seriously, fraus, a LC dutch oven is something you owe yourself).
2. Ideally, you'd want saute pan AND a cast-iron skillet. If you were really pressed for space, I'd say you should go with the saute alone. Get a Lodge cast iron skillet and just season that thing well enough to cook eggs in. (Not hard to do as we've discussed).The saute pan is perfect for pasta dinners for two as well as any kind of roast or braise you might want to make.
3. Obviously, unless you really ARE on a desert island, you'd want some sauce pots. We have a variety of stainless steel and copper pots. As you weed out your collection, keep in mind these three requirements: 1) make sure they nest for easy storage; 2) make sure the lids exist and fit properly; 3) make they don't have burn spots that you can't get off no matter how much elbow grease and steel wool you use.
4. Knives. I can hardly keep this list to 10 items if I include knives, but I'll try. You absolutely MUST HAVE GOOD QUALITY KNIVES if you really want to be frau. I tried, for years, to avoid spending $$$ on knives and it was all folly. Now, that I've dropped a few hundred bucks on a coupld of excellent knives and now that someone in my house keeps them sharp, I am happier, shinier, thinner, and have tons more energy! So, which ones do you need to invest in: 1) chef's knife or santoku; 2) serrated bread knife; 3) paring knife. These are the knives I simply could not live without. We have a GORGEOUS Mac chef's knife (what a gift, thank you, Tom!!!!), a relatively good serrated knife whose brand I can't remember, a Wustof santoku, and a Sabatier paring knife. Here is the best knife store on the web. Of these, here is my favorite. I use this little guy so often, he is so perfectly suited to my hand, we love each other, etc. Here is an excellent guide to knives from Cook's Illustrated, for those who need a little advice on what knife does what in the kitchen. The big thing with knives is 1) use your sharpening steel often (every couple of uses); and, 2) take high-quality knives to a professional sharpener at least once a year if not twice a year. We have someone here in Lawrence who does this for $2 a knife. Brilliant. If you have trouble finding someone, you can generally ask the manager at your local Williams & Sonoma or somesuch for advice. But dull knives are useless and dangerous. A bad combination.
5. Assorted utensils. Again, keeping this meta-list to 10 items is obviously impossible so I'm collapsing utensils into one category. I'd say, a strong wooden spoon, a fish turner (great for flipping eggs and anything else delicate--this is my favorite utensil), a silicone spatula, and a whisk are pretty essential in my book. The whisk can, in a pinch, be replaced by a fork. Just like this:
can be replaced with this:
In short, find a place to put a damn whisk.
6. Bowls. You need bowls. One big one that you can use for salad and for baking. And, a few smaller ones. Buy stainless steel. It isn't pretty but in terms of versatility, you cannot go wrong. For example, a stainless steel bowl put over a simmering pot of water is a double-boiler. You could technically do that with pyrex but stainless steel is lighter, easier, and won't ever break.
7. A pizza stone. I know. This is thinking outside the box. But, if you are doing any serious baking at all, you want a pizza stone. Hands down. And they are cheap. Here is ours.
8. Jelly roll pan. This is the most important pan in your cupboard. Obviously, you can use it for cookies. You can also use it to make delicious Sicilian style pizza (recipe on frau from last year). But, flip it over, toss some cornmeal on top, and you have yourself a pizza peel, which you will need if you ever want to bake naan, thin crust pizza, pita breads, etc.
9. Food processor. Get a good one. Don't fuck around with a mini-food processor just because you have a small kitchen. Seriously, if you own a mini-food processor, you are that:
The mighty food processor is the kitchen device that most separates the fraus from the rest. You can do almost anything in it. It will take up space but it's worth it. This thing can stand in for a mixer, a blender, a grater, a salad shooter, whatever. It will mix bread dough, pasta dough, cookie dough, etc. Get it with all the blades. Buy yourself a plastic tub with a lid. Put the accessories in the tub. Wipe the machine down with a moist sponge after each use. Love it. Care for it. You need this. Really, you do.
10. Finally, we could not live without our kitchen scale. Michael Ruhlman is an evangelist about this and if you have read his new book "Ratio," you will understand why. Here is his rationale. We believe it. We have a scale and use it for everything from baking to portion control.
And that rounds out the list. I am sure I left things out and this really is painful because my kitchen is the best-furnished room in my house. I have pretty much everything you could need to start a five-star restaurant on that desert island. I do have a few rules though, and perhaps these can guide you even if you inch up past the 10 essentials...
The first rule is: don't buy something that only has one use unless you really do a lot of that thing. Our ice cream maker, for example.
The second rule is: don't buy anything sold through an infomercial. No matter how useful it may seem, believe me, it won't be. You do not need a pan full of edge brownies. That's not how God intended brownies to be and deep down in your heart, you know that.
The third rule is: don't buy cheap shit. Buy things that you intend to care for and keep well into the future.
With that, dear fraulets, I bid you adieu for another week. Next time: reader questions.
02 January 2010
It’s a new day, it’s a new dawn, it’s a new year, and I’m feeling full…
Well, patient readers, resolutions have been made and, as it turns out, giving my ever-faithful Frau followers more content (any content at all…) wound up high on the list (especially after NKB told me to put it there in 140 characters or less sometime a few minutes before the ball dropped).
And really, it’s not that I haven’t thought about you. (I have). And, it isn’t as if I haven’t cooked. (I have). In fact, as my groaning hard drive can attest, I’ve even taken lots and lots of pictures of the makings of many a sumptuous repast. I don’t know…I’ve been busy? Let’s just agree to put it behind us and see if things don’t look up in this shiny new decade.
To that end, I’ll begin where I began on the morning of 1 January 2010. To welcome the new year, I awoke early to make bagels. I know, I know. Why didn’t I just run out and get bagels? Mainly because while we live in a region of country that is, for most of the year, a veritable cornucopia of delicious food, this is also a bagel desert. Not just a bagel desert, actually. The Sahara of bagel deserts. Lawrencians reading this will scoff. “There is an Einstein Bros. on Mass Street,” they will exclaim. “And a Panera!” Indeed. But, although those establishments may purvey circular bread-stuffs with holes in the middle, neither Einstein Bros. nor Panera produce anything that can be accurately called a “bagel.” I’m really not actually trying to be a typical, New York Times reading, latte-drinking, elitist, East Coast bagel snob; I’m just saying that if you can put cinnamon chips (whatever those are…) and bananas in it, it may be bagel-like, but be assured that it is merely a simulacrum.
So, having grown accustomed to the pleasures of consuming a chewy, savory treat every Saturday morning during our many years back east, I find myself feeling a kind of emptiness, an incompleteness, when I go too long without a proper bagel. And so, I learned how to make them. Several years ago. Like, when we first moved here. Since then, I have made them…thrice. I don’t know why I haven’t done it more often. It is ridiculously easy to do. Therefore, in addition to food blogging, I have resolved to remember how easy bagels are to make and to make them regularly in 2010. I thought that this might be a fitting way to resurrect All Things Frau.
Thus, without further ado, I bring you bagels, demystified. If you, too, live in a bagel desert, really, nothing should stop you from going into your kitchen right now and making these. The recipe upon which I have relied is, strangely enough, from an old issue of Cooking Light magazine. Go figure. Still, I have compared this recipe to several others and I still think it rises above the rest, if you’ll pardon the pun. It yields the perfect ratio of crustiness to chewiness and produces a nice, mildly yeasty flavor. I’ve altered the recipe a little, so find the improved version posted below. Use any beer you have in the fridge, except for a pilsner. Unless it has some real body, you’re not going to get much flavor from it. Having said that, I’ve used anything from Belgian white to oatmeal stout. (Generally, I use the fancy microbrew stuff that people kindly bring to the house for parties and that no one drinks because it tastes weird). So, friends, go forth and make bagels. They are INCREDIBLE right out of the oven, but keep well too. I imagine you could freeze them, if you should find yourself with any left over. The only thing you CANNOT do, under ANY circumstances, is put cinnamon chips and bananas in them. When you’re craving whatever that is, head out to Einstein Bros.
EVERYTHING BAGELS
Yield: 10 bagels
- 2 (12-ounce) cans/bottles brown beer (some kind of brown ale is ideal), divided
- 1 cup water
- 2 ¼ teaspoons instant yeast (this is the stuff that says “Rapid Rise” or “Bread Machine” yeast on the label and comes in a little glass jar)
- 1 large egg white, lightly beaten (mix yolk and 1 teaspoon of water in separate bowl and set aside)
- 4 ½ cups bread flour, divided (Alas, you really must use bread flour. You need the higher gluten content here for chew. I swear by King Arthur Flour for all things floury)
- 1 ½ teaspoons kosher salt
- Cooking spray or neutral oil
- 4 cups water
- 1 teaspoon brown sugar
- 1 teaspoon stone-ground yellow cornmeal
- Sesame seeds
- Poppy seeds
- Dried onion
- Kosher or coarse sea salt
- Dried Garlic bits
Directions:
1. Heat ½ cup beer and 1 cup water over low heat in a small, heavy saucepan to between 100° and 110°.
A digital kitchen thermometer really helps here (scroll down for my cheap equipment suggestions) but if you don’t have one and if you do have experience with baby bottles, bring the water to the temp to which you’d bring a milk bottle (test on the inside of your wrist). If you are not experienced with babies or their bottles, there is apparently an old trick that works just as well. Bring a spoonful of water up to your chin. If it feels hot, it’s there.
2. Combine beer mixture and yeast in a large bowl, stirring until yeast dissolves. Let stand 5 minutes. Stir in egg white.
3. While the yeast is resting, lightly spoon flour into dry measuring cups; level with a knife. Keep ¼ cup of the flour in a separate bowl.
4. Add 4 ¼ cups flour and salt to beer mixture; stir until a soft dough forms. Turn dough out onto a floured surface.
5. Knead until smooth and elastic (about 8 minutes); add enough of remaining ¼ cup flour, 1 tablespoon at a time, to prevent dough from sticking to hands. The finished dough will still feel a little sticky—tacky is the perfect word, I think—but it will be pretty elastic and will form a generally smooth ball.
6. Place dough in a large bowl coated with cooking spray or oil, turning the dough ball to coat top.
This step is important because you want to prevent a crust from forming on the dough. The crust will inhibit rising. So, be sure to coat the entire thing with a thin film of oil.
7. Cover and let rise in a warm place, free from drafts for 1 hour and 15 minutes or until doubled in size. (Gently press two fingers into dough. If an indentation remains, the dough has risen enough.)
8. Preheat oven to 400° an hour before baking. I go ahead and throw the pizza stone in the bottom of the oven but don’t fret if you don’t have one.
9. Punch dough down; cover and let rest 5 minutes.
10. Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Divide dough into 10 equal portions.
11. Working with one portion at a time (cover remaining dough to prevent drying), shape each portion into a ball. Make a hole in the center of each ball using your index finger. Using fingers of both hands, gently pull dough away from center to make a 1 ½-inch hole. With the bagel on the board, move your fingers around in a circle until the ring of dough is kind of rolling around. This will stretch the dough out with minimal hassle and make a nice looking finished product.
You can also roll your dough pieces out like a breadstick (think about how you made play-doh snakes as a kid…) and then, looping them around, pinch the two ends together.
12. Place bagels on a baking sheet coated with cooking spray and cover with plastic wrap. Let rise for 10 minutes (bagels will rise only slightly).
3. While the yeast is resting, lightly spoon flour into dry measuring cups; level with a knife. Keep ¼ cup of the flour in a separate bowl.
4. Add 4 ¼ cups flour and salt to beer mixture; stir until a soft dough forms. Turn dough out onto a floured surface.
5. Knead until smooth and elastic (about 8 minutes); add enough of remaining ¼ cup flour, 1 tablespoon at a time, to prevent dough from sticking to hands. The finished dough will still feel a little sticky—tacky is the perfect word, I think—but it will be pretty elastic and will form a generally smooth ball.
6. Place dough in a large bowl coated with cooking spray or oil, turning the dough ball to coat top.
This step is important because you want to prevent a crust from forming on the dough. The crust will inhibit rising. So, be sure to coat the entire thing with a thin film of oil.
7. Cover and let rise in a warm place, free from drafts for 1 hour and 15 minutes or until doubled in size. (Gently press two fingers into dough. If an indentation remains, the dough has risen enough.)
8. Preheat oven to 400° an hour before baking. I go ahead and throw the pizza stone in the bottom of the oven but don’t fret if you don’t have one.
9. Punch dough down; cover and let rest 5 minutes.
10. Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Divide dough into 10 equal portions.
11. Working with one portion at a time (cover remaining dough to prevent drying), shape each portion into a ball. Make a hole in the center of each ball using your index finger. Using fingers of both hands, gently pull dough away from center to make a 1 ½-inch hole. With the bagel on the board, move your fingers around in a circle until the ring of dough is kind of rolling around. This will stretch the dough out with minimal hassle and make a nice looking finished product.
You can also roll your dough pieces out like a breadstick (think about how you made play-doh snakes as a kid…) and then, looping them around, pinch the two ends together.
12. Place bagels on a baking sheet coated with cooking spray and cover with plastic wrap. Let rise for 10 minutes (bagels will rise only slightly).
13. Meanwhile, combine remaining beer, 4 cups water, and brown sugar in a Dutch oven or stock pot. Bring to a boil; reduce heat to a simmer (180 degrees if you have a thermometer).
14. After the bagels have risen for 10 minutes, gently lower bagels (I put in no more than 3 at a time to keep the water up to temperature) into simmering beer mixture. Cook 45 seconds. Turn each bagel with a slotted spoon; cook an additional 45 seconds.
Don’t worry if you cook them a little longer. The goal here is to boil them enough to seal in moisture without fully cooking them, so just keep it to under a minute on each side.
15. Transfer bagel to a wire rack lightly coated with cooking spray. Repeat procedure with remaining bagels.
If you don’t have a rack, try to find some way to get the bagels laid out so they are not sitting in their own water. Maybe an inverted cookie sheet with something under one corner so the water rolls off?
16. Now…to flavor. At this point, if you are a purist, or cooking with boring eaters in mind, you could just brush with the egg wash you made by mixing the yolk and a bit of water together. Or, if you are really making bagels, you can set up a nice little assembly line by putting the toppings in little bowls or plates. Brush the bagels with egg wash and then, sprinkle or dip or whatever you like with as much flavor as you want in whatever ratios you prefer. Just remember to finish off with a sprinkling of salt.
17. Place bagels on a baking sheet coated lightly with cooking spray or oil and then sprinkled with cornmeal.
18. Bake at 400° for 17-20 minutes or until golden.
19. You can either cool these on a wire rack or you can hastily tear into them, which I suggest.
14. After the bagels have risen for 10 minutes, gently lower bagels (I put in no more than 3 at a time to keep the water up to temperature) into simmering beer mixture. Cook 45 seconds. Turn each bagel with a slotted spoon; cook an additional 45 seconds.
Don’t worry if you cook them a little longer. The goal here is to boil them enough to seal in moisture without fully cooking them, so just keep it to under a minute on each side.
15. Transfer bagel to a wire rack lightly coated with cooking spray. Repeat procedure with remaining bagels.
If you don’t have a rack, try to find some way to get the bagels laid out so they are not sitting in their own water. Maybe an inverted cookie sheet with something under one corner so the water rolls off?
16. Now…to flavor. At this point, if you are a purist, or cooking with boring eaters in mind, you could just brush with the egg wash you made by mixing the yolk and a bit of water together. Or, if you are really making bagels, you can set up a nice little assembly line by putting the toppings in little bowls or plates. Brush the bagels with egg wash and then, sprinkle or dip or whatever you like with as much flavor as you want in whatever ratios you prefer. Just remember to finish off with a sprinkling of salt.
17. Place bagels on a baking sheet coated lightly with cooking spray or oil and then sprinkled with cornmeal.
18. Bake at 400° for 17-20 minutes or until golden.
19. You can either cool these on a wire rack or you can hastily tear into them, which I suggest.
Okay, see how easy that was. “18 steps easy,” you retort. I know, there are some 18 steps, but that’s because I broke each little thing down into its own step so you could see exactly how easy it is. Really, the whole thing takes about 45 minutes of active preparation. The rest of the time, you’re just waiting on things to rise and rest, during which time you can be doing your own rising and resting.
If the thought of this much activity before brunch gives you the shivers, you could do much of this work the night before. You’d then put the dough in the fridge after the main rise and let it stay in overnight. This process arrests the development of the yeast, and while I haven’t done it yet with this dough, I have used this method to great success with cinnamon roll dough. So, I set my alarm, stagger out of bed long enough to turn the heat on in the house and get the dough out of the fridge to warm up, and go back to bed. An hour later, the dough will be ready to proceed with remaining steps.
Finally, I promised some advice about equipment. A good digital thermometer and a cooling rack are invaluable tools for the home baker. Happily, both can be purchased at reasonable prices. The anal-retentive “product testers” at Cooks Illustrated give major props to this Polder digital thermometer. (Okay, so the words “anal” and “thermometer” have no place in the same sentence on a cooking blog…). Anyhow, we use one very much like it from CDN because I was impatient and couldn’t wait for Amazon to send me a package when I was in my cheese-making phase last year (that’ll have to be a retroactive post). As for a wire rack, they are super-cheap. My only preference is size (big) and nonstick. Here’s what we have.
And with that, post #1 of the ‘Tweens comes to a close. I hope that 2010 brings us many opportunities to gather around tables, both virtual and real. In the meantime, eat hot bagels with abandon. It’s cold outside and you need the carbs.
30 August 2008
she's so heavy: thoughts on my cast iron skillet
Two posts in one day is a little obsessive but having eaten out for the most part over the past four months and having spent the last week unpacking my beloved kitchen, I’m jonesing for time at the stove. Some people have sports (and/or, for the even luckier, exercise…) to relieve the tensions of everyday life. Some people have booze. I, to my peril perhaps, have cooking. Of course, this means that I also have eating but I claim cooking as the real diversion. Anyhow, to commemorate our sojourn to the Market, I made what can only be called a table full of summer for dinner: fried okra, baby summer squash sautéed with an herby, spicy Moroccan green sauce, and an heirloom tomato salad. The okra was coated in cornmeal in the traditional Southern style (for a recipe superior to Deborah Madison’s I have my mother to thank). Without a cast iron skillet, however, no recipe for anything fried and thus lip-smackingly good could be half as successful. And, this got me thinking of this humble piece of kitchen equipment. Truthfully, after two moves in the past year, what I really want to know is why something so unbelievably heavy has been kept by a species as mobile as humans. So, as I sit and happily digest the season’s eatings, I’m going to do what I arguably do best and meditate on the mundane: the cast iron skillet.
A quick Google search regarding the origins of cast iron results in a rich story about an old technology that still has few equals. Cast iron, it turns out, has played an integral part in human life since 31 A.D. when an enterprising mechanical engineer and government official in Nanyang, China, figured out how to make the stuff more easily than it had been made before. I could claim to understand the process by which he effected this efficiency but, honestly, why? The intricacies of metallurgy, I confess, elude me. What is relevant is that by some accounts (hint: one of them ends in –pedia…) the bellows of the blast furnaces used to smelt cast iron were operated by humans and/or horses before old Du Shi came along. While scholars cannot determine if the bellows were made of leather or wood (and while that seems of rather trivial consequence here…), they note that the use of water to move the bellows—Du Shi’s invention—played a significant role in promoting the use of cast iron by making production better, faster, and, indeed, cheaper.
As is often documented in human history, anything worth making is worth turning into some sort of deadly weapon and by the early 18th century, the majority of cast iron was produced to make cannons and bullets (or is musketballs?) for the English Army. Also in the early 18th century, however, an Englishman named Abraham Darby began making pots at a foundry along the banks of the River Severn in the barely inhabited Shropshire countryside. The valley in which the Coalbrookdale Furnace that Darby rebuilt in 1709 was situated came to be called Ironbridge Gorge and is widely recognized as one of the sites central to the history of the Industrial Revolution. Although the family made its fortune on pots, the Furnace later came to produce the iron bridges that are so associated with the remarkable transformation of agrarian life to the mobile and urban life we have come to think of as “modern.”
But, back to pots. So, by the late 18th century, cast iron cookware was quite the thing. Adam Smith himself quantified the “wealth of nations” not in their GDP (which, of course, didn’t exist until Keynes and the macroeconomic revolution) or bullion (which did…) but rather in the number of pots and pans produced by a country’s furnaces and used in its family hearths. Cast iron cookware came to the New World along with other European fineries and became an indispensable kitchen tool for the rich and homely alike. Jefferson’s yeoman and Hamilton’s merchant both relied on cast iron to get dinner to the table. Able to withstand the heat of the open fires and the beatings and bangings of travel (Lewis & Clark crated a dutch oven in one of their keel boats to fix meals for the Expedition), cast iron cookware remained the centerpiece of the cook’s arsenal throughout the expansions and migrations of the 19th century. Back across the Atlantic, the French were the first to add porcelain enamel to cast iron, taking advantage of its superior heat conduction and durability but making it easier to clean and, let’s be honest, prettier. And for both Americans and French, the availability of cast iron pots shaped a hearty cuisine. In the New World, slow-cooked dishes like chili, delicacies like fried okra and fried chicken, and humble staples such as cornbread demanded the kind of even cooking and high heat that cast iron provided. For the French, peasant fare like Coq au Vin and charcroute were made possible by the appearance of cookware that helped a little heat go along way, turning the old hen into a tender and succulent braise and offal into a flavorful delicacy. In a very real way, the availability of cast iron cookware made the gastronomy of so many cultures possible.
And this is where, I suppose, things get personal. My cast iron skillet was handed down to my mother by her mother—not uncommon in the South—and somehow found its way to me. It is black and a little sticky and is never so lovely as when it shines with the evidence of use. Though it’s “natural” inclinations towards being non-stick make it ideal for sautéing temperamentally “low-fat” things, sometimes I can tell that it just wants to fry! Nothing connects me to my mother and grandmother quite so clearly as the smell of cornmeal as it turns that lovely caramel color in the bottom of a pool of hot oil. Deep frying used to scare me as a kid. I remember that it seemed the perfect image of courage to see my half-pint of a mother braving the sputtering, splattering mess to produce something magically crispy and savory for the dinner table. Fried food coming out of our kitchen--a rarity--seemed magical to me and it was my mother who was always the magician. My father did the lion’s share of the cooking in our house, but when the skillet wanted to fry, Mom was the right man for the job. And so as I have grown up and moved out on my own, I have learned to summon the bravery to take on the dangerous delights of deep-frying. It is not the gladiator's ring or bungee jumping, but deep frying is an extreme sport of another kind. The satisfaction of reviving this connection--a connection woven in the flavors and smells of food--to the women who have come before me—and of course of eating the results—long outlasts the pangs of guilt that come with imbibing something whose only pretensions towards nutrition are caloric.
The marriage between human beings and the tools they make and use is as central to the flowering of civilization on earth as is anything. While one’s daily encounters with the more glamorous products of this marriage—cars come to mind—certainly remind us of this, it is somehow more fulfilling to appreciate the humility of a hardy stalwart like the cast iron skillet. This connection to our collective past--and perhaps to our individual pasts--is certainly worth the heavy lifting. (And the okra ain't bad either).
A quick Google search regarding the origins of cast iron results in a rich story about an old technology that still has few equals. Cast iron, it turns out, has played an integral part in human life since 31 A.D. when an enterprising mechanical engineer and government official in Nanyang, China, figured out how to make the stuff more easily than it had been made before. I could claim to understand the process by which he effected this efficiency but, honestly, why? The intricacies of metallurgy, I confess, elude me. What is relevant is that by some accounts (hint: one of them ends in –pedia…) the bellows of the blast furnaces used to smelt cast iron were operated by humans and/or horses before old Du Shi came along. While scholars cannot determine if the bellows were made of leather or wood (and while that seems of rather trivial consequence here…), they note that the use of water to move the bellows—Du Shi’s invention—played a significant role in promoting the use of cast iron by making production better, faster, and, indeed, cheaper.
As is often documented in human history, anything worth making is worth turning into some sort of deadly weapon and by the early 18th century, the majority of cast iron was produced to make cannons and bullets (or is musketballs?) for the English Army. Also in the early 18th century, however, an Englishman named Abraham Darby began making pots at a foundry along the banks of the River Severn in the barely inhabited Shropshire countryside. The valley in which the Coalbrookdale Furnace that Darby rebuilt in 1709 was situated came to be called Ironbridge Gorge and is widely recognized as one of the sites central to the history of the Industrial Revolution. Although the family made its fortune on pots, the Furnace later came to produce the iron bridges that are so associated with the remarkable transformation of agrarian life to the mobile and urban life we have come to think of as “modern.”
But, back to pots. So, by the late 18th century, cast iron cookware was quite the thing. Adam Smith himself quantified the “wealth of nations” not in their GDP (which, of course, didn’t exist until Keynes and the macroeconomic revolution) or bullion (which did…) but rather in the number of pots and pans produced by a country’s furnaces and used in its family hearths. Cast iron cookware came to the New World along with other European fineries and became an indispensable kitchen tool for the rich and homely alike. Jefferson’s yeoman and Hamilton’s merchant both relied on cast iron to get dinner to the table. Able to withstand the heat of the open fires and the beatings and bangings of travel (Lewis & Clark crated a dutch oven in one of their keel boats to fix meals for the Expedition), cast iron cookware remained the centerpiece of the cook’s arsenal throughout the expansions and migrations of the 19th century. Back across the Atlantic, the French were the first to add porcelain enamel to cast iron, taking advantage of its superior heat conduction and durability but making it easier to clean and, let’s be honest, prettier. And for both Americans and French, the availability of cast iron pots shaped a hearty cuisine. In the New World, slow-cooked dishes like chili, delicacies like fried okra and fried chicken, and humble staples such as cornbread demanded the kind of even cooking and high heat that cast iron provided. For the French, peasant fare like Coq au Vin and charcroute were made possible by the appearance of cookware that helped a little heat go along way, turning the old hen into a tender and succulent braise and offal into a flavorful delicacy. In a very real way, the availability of cast iron cookware made the gastronomy of so many cultures possible.
And this is where, I suppose, things get personal. My cast iron skillet was handed down to my mother by her mother—not uncommon in the South—and somehow found its way to me. It is black and a little sticky and is never so lovely as when it shines with the evidence of use. Though it’s “natural” inclinations towards being non-stick make it ideal for sautéing temperamentally “low-fat” things, sometimes I can tell that it just wants to fry! Nothing connects me to my mother and grandmother quite so clearly as the smell of cornmeal as it turns that lovely caramel color in the bottom of a pool of hot oil. Deep frying used to scare me as a kid. I remember that it seemed the perfect image of courage to see my half-pint of a mother braving the sputtering, splattering mess to produce something magically crispy and savory for the dinner table. Fried food coming out of our kitchen--a rarity--seemed magical to me and it was my mother who was always the magician. My father did the lion’s share of the cooking in our house, but when the skillet wanted to fry, Mom was the right man for the job. And so as I have grown up and moved out on my own, I have learned to summon the bravery to take on the dangerous delights of deep-frying. It is not the gladiator's ring or bungee jumping, but deep frying is an extreme sport of another kind. The satisfaction of reviving this connection--a connection woven in the flavors and smells of food--to the women who have come before me—and of course of eating the results—long outlasts the pangs of guilt that come with imbibing something whose only pretensions towards nutrition are caloric.
The marriage between human beings and the tools they make and use is as central to the flowering of civilization on earth as is anything. While one’s daily encounters with the more glamorous products of this marriage—cars come to mind—certainly remind us of this, it is somehow more fulfilling to appreciate the humility of a hardy stalwart like the cast iron skillet. This connection to our collective past--and perhaps to our individual pasts--is certainly worth the heavy lifting. (And the okra ain't bad either).
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