When I moved a few years ago, one important box, out of all the arguably negligible boxes, never made it to my house. It contained my entire collection of plain and enameled cast iron cookware, plus countless heat-proof serving pieces, many of them (like the cast iron) near-antiques, and several of them gifts with sentimental as well as culinary value. Common items such as large cast iron skillets are easy to replace (although, of course, anyone who has owned one for a long time will tell you that their
seasoned pan is irreplaceable). Other things are harder to re-acquire. Good enameled cast iron and decorative bakeware are, for starters, expensive; thoughtful, well-heeled friends have used holidays and other opportunities to help me rebuild my collection with generous gifts. But some pieces are just not available anymore: a shallow round enameled cast iron paella-type pan with integral cut-out handles, for example, a gift in the early 1970s; the first piece of enameled cast iron that I ever owned, a blue and cream small gratin, that I purchased on my first trip to Europe; a Victorian-era ceramic mold, bought for me by my mother when I saw it in an antique shop. Don’t even get me started about true cast-iron popover pans, with their odd number of 11 deep compartments, designed to leave room on each side of the pan for picking it up. Mine had been an Erie pan of my Pennsylvania German grandmother’s, so I estimate that it was nearly 100 years old or more when I lost it. My large skillet was hers, too. For me, such losses are far more painful than, for example, the loss of a favorite gold ring a number of years ago. I never think about that ring. But I think about these pans all the time.
One item that I recently was able to replace, however, was a little cast iron gem pan with six ¼-cup compartments, called a muffin pan by its manufacturer,
Lodge, the cast iron king, probably so as not to confuse modern buyers.
I call this a gem pan because little muffins (and this is a little pan that makes little items) used to be called “gems,” especially those that were very plain and sturdy like the ones this pan is perfect for. Nowadays a muffin is more apt to be a big, sugary piece of muffin-shaped cake, and indeed muffin tins are the equivalent of cupcake tins. They hold more batter than a gem pan, and their aluminum construction is suited to the lower-temperature baking and higher-sugar content of the modern muffin.
I found my gem pan quite by accident while shopping at Chaves, the Portuguese market mentioned in
last week’s post. I knew Lodge still made a pan like this, but had never seen it in a store and had resisted paying more for shipping than for the pan itself. And there it was, on an aisle I had passed by numerous times without stopping to look at the assortment of pots and pans. I’m not sure what the Portuguese use these pans for—I’m guessing little corn muffins or perhaps some of their dense, filled confections—but I was happy to see them and snatched one up.
Cast iron is an ancient, nontoxic, easily molded metal that is an outstanding heat conductor, and particularly good for cooking or baking at high or moderately high temperatures and where even browning and crispness are valued—hence the reason it is prized for fried chicken, popovers, or waffles, as a few examples. Cast iron weighs a ton. For this reason, cast iron pans have often been portrayed in comedies as weapons, but this is pure fiction: you could never actually lift them high enough to hit anyone. But do look for handles on both sides when you buy a large frying pan or you will never even be able to pick it up off the stove.
All new pans should be scrubbed with soap and hot water to remove factory coatings, dried thoroughly, and then seasoned. To season, use solid shortening or animal fat, never oil. You may melt it, however, to ease coating the entire surface of the new pan—inside and out—with the fat. Place the pan upside-down in an oven preheated to 350 F for one hour; a rimmed cookie sheet beneath the pan will catch any dripping fat. Store it in a dry area where it will not get scratched: on the stove, hanging, or unstacked in a cupboard. Normal use will keep your pan seasoned, but if it ever rusts or begins to seem brittle, or if for any reason it needs a thorough scrubbing with soap and water, season it again from scratch. After using, wipe out thoroughly with a paper towel; if it needs a bit of scrubbing, use hot water only and a plastic or straw pot scrubber, followed by a thin smear of shortening. When at a friend’s house, or even in your own, my advice is to never touch another’s cast iron pan, or at the very least be willing to subject yourself to supervision by its owner if the question of your cooking with it comes up. Never, however, wash it or otherwise involve yourself in cleaning it. It’s just safer that way for all concerned.
Date-Graham Gems
These are so dense, spartan, and healthful that they may not be indulgent enough for your taste. They are about as old-fashioned as you can get. I find them very satisfying and stick-with-you for breakfast. Makes 6.
¾ cup
graham flour¼ cup all-purpose flour
1 T unsweetened cocoa
2 T brown sugar, packed
¼ tea salt
scant ½ tea baking soda
½ cup sour milk (or ½ cup whole milk with 1 T sour cream stirred in and set aside)
1 egg, beaten
generous 1 T butter, melted and cooled
¼ cup chopped dates
2 tea turbinado sugar
Preheat oven to 400 F. Grease the gem pan with a little butter or shortening.
Combine the dry ingredients in a small bowl, breaking up any lumps in the sugar and cocoa.
In a measuring cup, beat the milk and cooled butter into the egg until thoroughly amalgamated. Stir into the dry ingredients until just wet; there should be a sort of foaming of the batter. Gently fold in the dates.
Spoon the batter into the pan, dividing evenly. Sprinkle the tops with turbinado sugar for a little sweet crunch. Bake 18 minutes. Turn the gems out immediately, loosening the tops if needed. Serve warm or at room temperature, with or without butter.
When I moved a few years ago, one important box, out of all the arguably negligible boxes, never made it to my house. It contained my entire collection of plain and enameled cast iron cookware, plus countless heat-proof serving pieces, many of them (like the cast iron) near-antiques, and several of them gifts with sentimental as well as culinary value. Common items such as large cast iron skillets are easy to replace (although, of course, anyone who has owned one for a long time will tell you that their seasoned pan is irreplaceable). Other things are harder to re-acquire. Good enameled cast iron and decorative bakeware are, for starters, expensive; thoughtful, well-heeled friends have used holidays and other opportunities to help me rebuild my collection with generous gifts. But some pieces are just not available anymore: a shallow round enameled cast iron paella-type pan with integral cut-out handles, for example, a gift in the early 1970s; the first piece of enameled cast iron that I ever owned, a blue and cream small gratin, that I purchased on my first trip to Europe; a Victorian-era ceramic mold, bought for me by my mother when I saw it in an antique shop. Don’t even get me started about true cast-iron popover pans, with their odd number of 11 deep compartments, designed to leave room on each side of the pan for picking it up. Mine had been an Erie pan of my Pennsylvania German grandmother’s, so I estimate that it was nearly 100 years old or more when I lost it. My large skillet was hers, too. For me, such losses are far more painful than, for example, the loss of a favorite gold ring a number of years ago. I never think about that ring. But I think about these pans all the time. 
