I’m not really sure why, but I think men are better at cooking in cast iron pans , and I would guess pots too.
It’s an odd thing.
We did replace all our cancer giving cookware with cast iron a while back. I’d wanted to do it for a while and then we saw a film: Dark Waters that basically despite being a film drove the point home in a way that saw to it none of us will eat out of a coated anything ever again.
All we have now are cast iron pans and stainless steel pots. The next thing we are replacing is pretty much plastic containers of any kind, moving to glass only.
Anyway, my point is that I have never been one of these guys that enjoys cooking.
When I was single in London, at around Christmas time I’d invite all the random people I knew who didn’t have family around, and usually a pretty girl or three, for a dinner. The deal was I’d cook one dish, and everyone else would being something and do the washing up.
Pretty low effort since I usually just got a big roast, seasoned it, sealed it in a pan, then shoved it in the oven for a few hours on a low temperature.
And it’s not as if I can’t cook, I’m actually fairly capable. It’s rather that for the most part cooking feels a bit like wasted time. I could be doing something either more productive or more fun. For the most part food for me is akin to fuel. So as long as it’s relatively healthy it makes little difference what I eat.
But I noticed there is a kind of… perhaps primitive impulse, that seems to take over if I’m camping, usually on my own. If there are others with me, there will often be someone that actively becomes engaged with the cooking aspect. And if there are women in the group, they tend to take over that function, especially if the men carried most of the heavy stuff on a hike and so on.
On my own, I don’t mind making the fire, heating or cooking the food and taking my time to do it right. I guess it might be a function of necessity. At home, and in the modern world, everything is so easy and “ready made” in most respects that it feels as there is no necessity, only convenience.
But out there, you need to eat and do all the things to do so. Get the wood, prepare the food, light a fire, tend to it and the food, and then, eat in peace and silence, usually contemplating a beautiful view, and weather permitting, sleeping under the stars.
At home, for some reason, cooking in cast iron pans gives a sense of things that is slightly similar.
So far it only applies to breakfast for the most part, and I think maybe part of it is the nature of the tool. You need to use enough oil or butter or grease. You need to periodically re-season your pans. They are heavy. You clean them without using soaps and detergents. You leave them hanging with a thin layer of oil.
It’s kind of technical in a way. A bit like the tractor. Solid machine that will serve you for decades, but you have to take the time to maintain it properly. Or a gun. Same thing.
I think there is something inherently masculine about cooking in cast iron pans.
And of course, I also think, at least insofar as those things we are willing to cook ourselves in them, we are better at it than women. In fairness though, all the famous chefs are male too. Or if you prefer, the pans are heavy and you kind of have to get the grease/butter/oil to food ratio just right. You know, technical stuff.
Even if it is just shoving some bacon in it, stirring up some eggs in a bowl and then adding them in when the bacon has reached the right almost-finished cooking point, and finishing that off together with the eggs while the coffee is brewing.
The finished product looks a mess, but it’s actually very tasty. Something even the wife —who I have learnt is affected more by the appearance of food than she likes to admit even to herself— has come to appreciate.
Anyway, now you know one of my little quirks.
This post was originally published on my Substack. Link here
