A prime misdelivery is right on time. Cast iron versatility may not be a paradox.
It was all Amazon’s fault, and I was irritated.
Ordering medical supplies for a family member, the smiling box arrived two days later. Except I wasn’t exactly smiling once I opened it. Instead of thirty some odd packs of glucose gel, the oversized box contained a single book as the sole inhabitant.
A cookbook, at that.
Confusion set in at first; was this an unexpected gift from someone? There were no holidays or celebrations on the calendar. I logged into my account to doublecheck the gels’ tracking number.
“Delivered!” the screen brags on the perceived accomplishment.
Seriously? That’s not even the same department as reading material; how did they manage this mix-up? Am I supposed to cook the glucose gel from scratch?
I’ll spare you the joy I had in dealing with Amazon customer service (insert sarcasm). Fast forward, and they tell me to keep the book and they’ll resend the order.
Now, what to do with this thing? I have enough large cookbooks; one more is really overkill at this point.
Setting the book aside, I turn to other things. But that evening, I do eventually revert my attention back to it.
Y’all, this cookbook. A photographic beauty, I’m not sure who the main character is—the pictures or the recipes. One after another, the pages sing my name like sirens from the shore. Where is Odysseus when you need him?
Okay, I’m officially lured; several make the meal plan for the week. The cast iron skillet is battle ready.
For those who need background, the revered cast iron skillet holds a sacred place. The champion that sizzles bacon grease, fries cornbread, and slays all manners of meat (and men) is the workhorse of the kitchen. But…..that’s essentially its limit. It accepts the boundaries and doesn’t attempt to overplay its hand.
Until the day arrives when I commence making meal after meal from that cookbook, using the workhorse in previously inconceivable ways. No bacon, no cornbread, no meat frying, and no swinging at men who need sense knocked into them. The skillet, I daresay, has grown up and morphed into something I have yet to describe adequately.
“Mmm. Umm-hmm. Mmmm. Mmmm,” is about the extent of the dinner conversation until plates are scraped clean. It is only then that fully formed sentences can be vocalized by my resident Chef Ramseys. Apparently, the recipes have moved onto the next round and are requested to be featured in the regular meal plans.
I find myself having an internal conversation with said skillet. (And I stress internal. I haven’t lost all my marbles just yet.) This blackened warrior arises like a phoenix; why have I not appreciated the versatility it possesses? A portal to the new world order of expanded dinner possibilities has just opened.
But I daresay it goes deeper; how frequently do we fail to see the talents and abilities of those in our orbit? Sometimes, we can be astounded; we need not wait for fate or force. Alter your view, widen your comfort zone--good things may come for all. Like a phenomenal dinner.
Philosophy brought to you by a cast iron skillet and a rogue cookbook.
It was all Amazon’s fault, and I am grateful.
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