We owned a very heavy cast iron skillet. Owned. Past tense. It was rusting and I couldn't seem to care for it properly. The rust bothered me. I didn't want to eat a rusty omelet or orange-tinted hash browns. Even after finding a website for proper maintenance techniques I decided it was too much effort for one pan. My husband scowled when I suggested we never use it again. So I dropped the subject and decided to let him deal with it. One evening he used the pan to make dinner. The hamburgers were great and I assumed everything was going well for him and the pan. But a few hours later as I was cleaning up the kitchen I saw a black handle sticking out of the garbage can. Huh. I guess he's done with it. I thought. So I pushed the skillet farther in, dumped some onion and lettuce scraps on top and closed the lid. The next evening Thom took out the trash. Quite honestly, I was thrilled to be rid of the rust bucket. One less pan to wash! But fast forward a few weeks ...
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