To her, they weren’t just kitchen tools — they were part of the family, seasoned with decades of meals, laughter, and stories. One afternoon, I decided to make dinner and grabbed one of her skillets, thinking I could cook anything in it. She walked into the kitchen, spotted what I was doing, and shook her head with a mix of surprise and amusement. “You can’t cook just anything in a cast iron pan,” she said. I laughed at first, but then she sat me down and explained why.
She told me that acidic foods, like tomato sauces, can eat away at the seasoning she’d spent years building up. Delicate fish can stick and break apart, leaving behind a mess. And making sweet dishes in the same pan she used for savory meals could leave behind flavors that don’t belong. Each mistake, she explained, could undo the care she had poured into keeping the pan strong and ready for the next meal.
As I listened, I realized it wasn’t just about cooking. It was about respect — for the pan, for tradition, and for the effort that goes into preserving something over time. That cast iron skillet was more than iron; it was a reminder of how patience, care, and intention make ordinary things last.
Now, whenever I use her pan, I don’t just see a piece of cookware. I see her wisdom, her lessons, and the love she stirred into every meal. And I carry her words with me as a reminder that in life, just like in cooking, the things we value most require attention and respect if we want them to endure.
