I got a cast iron pan recently. It's been - in a word - wonderful. I don't generally like to use the phrase 'life-changing' because, when over-used - it seems to lose its meaning. After all, what sort of life gets changed so easily by so many different things?
But as far as my kitchen life goes, this piece of cookware has definitely changed the game. All my other shallow pots and pans stare at me ruefully from the shelves as they gather dust in the cupboard because I'm finding more use and functionality out of this single pan.
But if I'm being honest, learning to use it was a bit of a struggle.
One of the great things about cast iron is that you no longer have to be dainty with the spatulas or utensils. It's constructed from solid metal and there's something called a seasoning process that creates a coating tougher than what you'd find on a cheaper pan. I learned that through something called polymerization, fats can become heated, then solidified, into a tough and naturally nonstick surface. I can now un-worriedly scrape and scratch to my heart's content with all the metal cooking utensils!
But every single time I dare, I hear Umma's voice shrieking (as she often did when teenage me made scrambled eggs with her beloved pans), "Don't scratch the pan! You'll take the nonstick off!"
And then there's the soap. I love the stuff, don't you? It gets all the dirt, grime, and grease off things, and it makes them feel squeaky clean. But they are anathema to cast iron. Soaking a pan for too long in soapy water will either lead to a weakening of that polymerized layer or, worst yet, rust. I can't tell you how many times my hand unthinkingly wandered to the dish soap bottle whenever I cleaned off my pan.
Learning to use this cast iron skillet meant un-learning everything I knew about the care of cookware.
And I don't know about you, but for me, un-learning is really, really hard.
It's what I've been finding lately as I've become a math student again. Did any of you do long division like me? Draw the little house, write the dividend inside the house, divisor outside the house, multiply and then subtract? It's all I've ever known. But did you know that isn't actually the only (or even the best or most efficient) way to do it?
I know! My 90s mind was - as they say - shook. And sometimes I find myself irrationally yearning for my little house every time I encounter another long division problem. Because what's familiar feels comfortable, even if it's not the best way. Un-learning, then relearning, has proven more difficult than my pride would typically allow me to confess.
Educators have since rewritten the manual for how children best understand math. What we know about children's comprehension around math concepts has since allowed us to approach teaching it in an entirely different way. A few teacher friends who grew up with my little house method of yore confessed to feeling similarly lost. "I'm studying the math manual every night before I teach it!" one colleague admitted.
It's not just cast irons and math lessons that require manuals; lots of things in life come with one. Cars, appliances...even erasers! I was utterly bemused when I ordered an eraser from Amazon the other day and it came with a little diagrammed slip of paper. "Rub liberally over mistake. Brush any rubbings away. Now you're done!"
That last example likely seems nonsensical because everyone knows how to use an eraser. But I could've really used one when a student once bought me the most darling set of erasers that looked like the a delectable set of to-scale candy, and...well, you can imagine what happened next.
Manuals keep us from making mistakes. They help us understand the mind of the manufacturer when he or she originally designed something for human use. If followed, we can get pretty good use out of a thing without failure; when flouted (for whatever reason), bad things - like confusedly spitting out a healthy chomp of candy-colored eraser - are bound to happen.
Aside from my pan and my new eraser, I've been learning to see the unwritten manual of my body. I've mentioned here once that I'm a recovering caffeine addict. Truly, an addict I was. I'd have the equivalent of eight or nine cups, and then add diet sodas and even caffeine pills to keep me going when that didn't feel like enough.
It's truly a wonder that it took me so long to make a connection between that and my chronic insomnia. More importantly, I failed to recognize tiredness as my body's warning sign for exhaustion. I ignored the manufacturer's directions for my body and let myself cover it up with synthesized energy boosts to blithely keep going.
I suppose this might be an untimely post for all my teacher friends whose minds are already on the upcoming school year, or parents who are busily loading up backpacks with fresh supplies. Life is a busy carousel of tasks and tumbling to-dos. But take it from someone who ignored her own body's manual for far too long and is now needing to take far more time to recover - it's worth it to follow the manual, kick your feet up, and slow down from time to time.
Your body was made for rest, friends.
P.S. Teaching colleagues, you've been on my mind and heart far more than I can express. I've got a post coming up just for you soon.
But in the meantime, know that I'm wishing you heroes the best year ever from afar.