peas at a party

Our first apartment was furnished.  Okay, not so much furnished.  It was more like the previous tenants left things behind that they didn’t think were worth moving.

There was a bed.  Actually a frame and springs and a mattress that was just fine.  Okay, it wasn’t fine.  But with a heavy duty mattress cover . . . what can I say?  We were grad-student broke and not about to turn up our noses at free stuff.

There was a sofa.  Uhhhh, not so much, but words escape me.  Picture a door, out flat, with 4 wrought iron legs attached and then a big slab of foam for a cushion.  A quick jog (actually a bus ride and a long walk) down Mass Ave. to the Cambridge Tea and Spice House, and our sofa had an avocado green Indian throw to cover the foam.  This worked.  It was the ’60’s, and all of our friends were young enough to sit cross-legged on this big, green raft.  Just not at the same time.

But we found the best detritus in the pantry.  For some reason, I will never understand, the previous tenants left behind two cast iron skillets and a cast iron Dutch oven with a lid.  A little cleaning, a little seasoning, 41+ years, 1336 pots of spaghetti, 1887 pans of cornbread, 6313 strips of crispy bacon, 4324 Saturday morning pancakes, 123 pots of Sunday afternoon bean soup, untold pan-grilled chicken breasts, and one TV appearance later, these pans are still going strong.

I’m not about to jump into the debate on the safety of non-stick cookware.  It’s just that I’ve never understood the point.

• Cast iron is durable.  My mom’s cast iron Dutch oven was a wedding present, purchased used from a ”widow lady” 65 years ago.
• Cast iron heats evenly.
• Cast iron is cheap.
• Cast iron doesn’t need any special cooking utensils.
• Cast iron is easy to clean.
• Cast iron can be heated dry for toasting nuts and seeds.
• Cast iron can be heated to high temps for stir fries and blackened fish.
• Cast iron goes from the stove top to the oven.
• Cast iron is virtually non-stick.  A quick spray of Pam and a teaspoon or two of healthy oil is all that’s needed.

So this is long, long overdue, but if you happen to be the person or persons who moved out of 66 South Street in Waltham, Massachusetts, in the summer of 1966, I want to say thanks.

(I can’t tell you what happened to the bed or the sofa.  We left them for the next tenants.)