When the sun doesn’t shine for weeks at a time, when all roads to success are actually dead ends, when the world seems to be falling apart around us, we look for empowerment in familiar places. I turn to the grill. It is often the only area where my success is guaranteed.
Then the clouds burst and dinner is interrupted by endless rain and drizzle. Improvisation becomes necessary.
Enter the grill pan.
A grill pan was on my wish list for years. I wanted a simple cast iron pan, purchased for a few bucks at our local hardware store. Instead, T bought me the pièce de résistance, the Holy Grail of grill pans. He gave me a Staub.
If you know me you might wonder, as I did, whether a Staub was perhaps a bit too much pan for me. The thought crosses my mind from time to time. Am I responsible enough to care for this beautiful vessel? How durable is it? Will I ruin it with my carelessness?
So far, I haven’t been able to destroy the Staub. It has a place of honor on my stovetop (too heavy to hang from the pot rack, too exquisite to hide in a drawer) where I admire it every day and use it several times each week. I’ve even built a bit of muscle from lifting it.
On these endless rainy stormy cold days, I raise my fist to the sky. “Rain if you must! You won’t stop me from grilling! I’ve got another date with Staub.”
Over at Called to the Table is another tale of grilling, this time laced with humility, and a recipe for Beer-Braised Brat-Kebabs.