Seasonal mettle

Friends and I have been trading

thoughts on culinary metallurgy,

as a result of someone's report

of acquiring his first, classic

"heavy-bottomed cast iron pan."

This weighty subject is exactly

the sort of thing that's likely

to sway our speculations in win-

ter especially, given the redis-

covery we tend to make of rooms

and what can be done in them to

resemble an active life. I keep

a rowing machine, as a hedge a-

gainst domestic misadventure, 

but like my friends, I take an

interest in the damage that can

be done in the kitchen.

That confession about cast iron 

threw us all for a loop, seduc-

ing us into a discussion of the

properties of metals, more than

of technique. But it's all much

in line with conjectures about 

compression ratios in engines,

that sustain the allure of cars

outside their carbon footprint.

Moreover, there's something un-

deniably gratifying about being

incorrigible in one's play. And

in proving everything all over

again, pleasantly inconclusive.

Winter, we like to say, doesn't

have to last forever; but while

it's here we know its metabolic

impact shapes the appetite with

tastes that correspond with be-

ing snug. The volatile conduct

of copper and aluminum belongs,

gastronomically, to the instan-

taneous more than to the steep-

ing transformations of ingredi-

ents we savour in this season.

What immortal luck it seems, to

latch on to a cast iron pot, at

the very hour a braise suggests

itself. As one of these friends

remarked almost in passing, it

could even lead to the revival

of butter, cream, and Calvados.

i, iii  Guillaume Babouin