I had a bit of free time, so I scanned an old family photo album from the 1900s. In proof that people never change, one of the the first things my family did with their brand-new camera was put a hat and glasses on the dog and photograph him.
Category: History
This is how far we’ve fallen as a country. Internment camps. Again. Wailing children separated from their parents, traumatized, used as bargaining chips for policy. Force yourself to listen to this. Imagine it’s your kid brother, your niece, your own child. Then go out and protest. Call your senators. Do something.
… including me, apparently. I’ll be at AutomataCon the weekend of May 18-20, 2018.
— Adam Weinstein (@AdamWeinstein) March 24, 2018
A six-year-old just handed this to me. pic.twitter.com/9osX7LNpFj
— Laura Koenig (@2nickels) March 24, 2018
#MarchForOurLives pic.twitter.com/Fs1pyc84by
— Patton Oswalt (@pattonoswalt) March 24, 2018
I’m only now emerging from the shock of the election. I’m not okay. I’m stunned by my fellow Americans’ choice for hate over love, fear over understanding, divisiveness over unity. Of course, that shock is a huge marker of my own privilege, the fact that my life is so uncompromised by bigotry and racism that I believed the majority of the country would vote against such things.
Today I have no such illusions. Shaun King’s twitter feed alone is enough to make me understand how wrong I was. While I don’t believe every person who voted for Trump is an overt racist, I do believe that their votes constitute consent to bigotry. I am also to blame because I didn’t do enough. I donated, I phonebanked, but I didn’t go far enough. I didn’t have many uncomfortable conversations because they made me uncomfortable. I was inside the echo chamber and I believed what I heard.
I’m ashamed of my complacency, my complicity. I’m terrified for my friends and family, for the nation and the planet.
I will do more. I will act. I will have uncomfortable conversations. It will be hard. I will fail. But I will do more. I must.
Late this fall, I was helping my cousins clean out their mom’s basement, and we came across a stack of cast iron skillets. I don’t know much about them, but I do know that there are a few highly collectable brands — and the entire stack was nothing but Wagners and Griswolds. I half-jokingly asked my cousins if I could have one, and they said yes, that their mom would have wanted them to stay in the family regardless of their value.
So of course, because I’m me, I immediately went home and looked up the skillet online. According to this article on the Wagner and Griswold Society’s website, (of course there’s a society) this pan is a Fifth-Series Griswold #9 skillet, pattern 710D, with an inset heat ring and a rounded rib handle, manufactured in Erie, Pennsylvania sometime between 1905 and 1907. It is both wondrous and a little scary that there are people who know this much about cast iron — but as a fellow history nerd, I’m grateful they exist.
The skillet was in pretty darn good shape to begin with, but since you only find hundred-year-old cookware once in a blue moon, I followed the lye-bath directions on the WAGS site to electrolyze all the gunk off.
It took a couple of dips and some scrubbing, but after about two weeks the water had turned black and thick as imperial stout. After a couple rounds of scrubbing with Dr. Bronner’s and some steel wool, I had a clean, beautiful bare iron pan.
The WAGS site suggested one seasoning coat of Crisco, but I’m a sucker for Serious Eats with their photo-heavy food-sciencey articles, so I used J. Kenji Lopez-Alt’s method. The results were stunning:
Once I’d got the antique skillet back in working order, I took our Martha Stewart pan that had served us loyally for the last dozen years, and stuck it in the lye bath for a couple of weeks. Unlike the antique, we’d ridden old Martha hard and put her away wet, and she was covered in a gunky black crust that no amount of scrubbing could remove. That lye bath, though:
The gunk just sheeted off in 2-inch hunks. I was very impressed. I forgot to take a picture of Martha before we passed her on to some friends, but once that stuff was off, she looked like she’d just walked out of the store: perfectly clean, gunmetal-grey iron.
The experts say that the older skillets are a higher-quality iron, and that they were polish-ground to a fine finish — and I certainly saw the difference between the old skillet and Martha, who was rough and pebbly, even after I’d taken a steel drill-brush to hear a couple years ago. When you run your fingers over the cooking surfaces, you immediately notice the antique skillet’s superior quality. It’s lighter, too — the antique is an inch or two wider than Martha, but she’s lighter. There’s a lot of debate over whether or not this makes that much of a difference when you’re cooking, and I probably have some sunk-cost fallacy / confirmation bias going on, but I feel like the Erie definitely cooks better. Still, for me, it’s more about putting a family treasure back in action. Allez Cuisine!
Recent Comments