When we first moved here, it was summer. Josh's birthday was soon, and I was searching for a recipe for a special dessert. My new friend Maria suggested that I make a brownie pudding cake, and she offered to loan her boyfriend's cast iron pan to me. The loan came with a caveat: I couldn't keep the pan too long, because her boyfriend, Thomas, would need it. She said, he used it just about every day.
I was thankful for the recipe, and I was curious about the boyfriend. Curious isn't exactly the right word. Intrigued, maybe? Downright surprised? I mean, I didn't really know many men who owned their own pans and used them, with the exception of one (Adam Lord, I am looking at you). And so, on that day, I declared Maria as one of the most fortunate women I knew, as she lived with a man who cooked for her.
I made the cake, and it was a success. A few weeks later, I bought my own cast iron skillet. It's twelve inches around, and heavy as hell. It's a permanent fixture in my kitchen, residing on the stove top, never resigned to the cupboard. I use it every single day.
It's been more than three years since that summer. Maria is no longer a new friend, but instead a very good friend. Over time I got to know Thomas, and I learned that he wasn't just a man in the kitchen, but that he was very smart, and fun, and had such an ease about him that you always felt comfortable in his presence.
At his memorial, Maria said, "We are all better for knowing him." I never told him about my pan purchase. I know if I had, he would have laughed.
Thank you, Thomas, for your friendship and cast iron influence. One day, we'll cook again.
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