Not a day goes by that I don’t turn on my oven. It turns out the most savory roasts and delectable pound cakes one could imagine. It warms fried chicken pieces until the entire batch is done. It browns meringues and broils steaks until the perfect crust is achieved. When I “blind bake” pie crusts, it’s the stability of my oven’s thermostat that gives me the confidence to tend to other matters for a spell.
Considering all that my oven provides for me, an apology is definitely in order. Seems I’ve developed a past-time that calls my oven into action while others are at rest. Since the dawn of this century, I’ve never met a vintage cast iron skillet I didn’t feel the need to salvage. So I am always seasoning or re-seasoning some piece of cast iron! Steady 350 degrees — an hour a pop — rest the cast iron and bake on another coat. Sigh . . . I know it’s a lot on you, Mr. Oven. Plus, because of repeatedly baking lard-covered cast iron, I expose you to harsh cleaning agents more often than your manufacturers probably deem feasible.
To top it off — with the Thanksgiving Day demise of my microwave (which was used mostly for reheating), I am — once again — calling on my trusty buddy to reheat my meals. So I also apologize for finding yet another reason to press him into service. But why forage into the murky waters of the “Black Friday Weekend” crowd for an immediate replacement when I could just wrap my meals in foil, sit back and let my trusty oven heat them at 350 for 20 minutes?
I’m sorry once, sorry twice, sorry three times and more, Mr. Oven — for the extra burden my cast iron obsession places on you. But you handle everything I throw at you so well. And you have now earned the distinction of being recognized as my wronged object. As a result, you can boast holding a place in my blog. Other of my belongings may be mentioned in various posts. But You, Mr. Oven, have a post of your very own!