If you give a husband a cast iron pan, he’s going to want to season it.
Not just any husband – this kind of husband must like hunting & fishing, must love dogs, must be the kind of man who, as an elementary aged student, told mediocre jokes that he thought were hilarious in the annual talent show but actually weren’t, must poorly practice different accents during everyday conversation, and must read wild game cookbooks for fun. In short, this husband must be a lovely dork with an affliction for “manly” cooking.”
Anyway, if you give a husband a cast iron pan, he’s going to want to season it.
He’ll lose sense of all that is happening in his surroundings to hone in on exactly what flavors to season the cast iron pan with.
He’ll talk his wife into adding bacon in bulk and hoards of other meat to the weekly Sunday afternoon grocery list. She’ll do it, because she loves the husband.
Once the husband gets the meat, he’s going to want to purchase greasy, slimy whole fat lard, butter, and other oils.
Now, this is a husband who loves his wife so even though he wants to season his pan with artery clogging, early onset diabetes inducing oils, he’ll concede to occasionally using ghee (clarified butter), olive oil, and sometimes even coconut oil.
As soon as the husband gets the great variety of oils, he’s going to want to immediately start cooking.
So, he’ll refuse to wear the apron his wife put on their wedding registry for him and proceed wildly with arms flailing in the kitchen.
The husband will heat the pan with his choice of oil, then add the meat followed by salt, pepper, cumin, garlic powder, and onion powder. He’ll leave bowls, cutting boards, screw on spice tops, and silverware scattered in disarray throughout the kitchen. The husband doesn’t have time to clean up – he’s seasoning his precious cast iron pan.
When the meat starts sizzling and popping, he’s going to want put the matching cast iron lid on the pan to contain the humidity and protect his 10 year old t-shirt he remains deeply attached to.
Once the meat has cooked for a bit, the husband is going to want to check the temperature with his highly regarded electronic meat thermometer that his wife thinks is unnecessary.
He’ll take the lid off, smoke will billow, the fire alarm will shriek, and the husband is going to want solve the problem.
The husband will turn on the stove fan, open the window, nudge his wife out of the way while she’s fanning the alarm clock to press the elusive magic button to halt the alarm’s shriek. Then, he’ll listen to his wife’s erratic grumblings about how her eyes are literally burning from the smoke & spices, how the fan is literally so loud, and how she is literally so annoyed.
She’ll retreat to the only other room in their one bedroom apartment not understanding the relationship between husband and cast iron pan.
The husband will finish cooking the meat in silence which is really all he ever wanted. When the food is ready, he’ll bring an offering plate to his wife and with hopeful eyes say,
“See. Taste. Isn’t the cast iron pan worth it?”