What could this be?
It is this. Or these.
Santa brought me not one, but two of these big beauties.
We have one cast iron skillet. It's 10 inches. It doesn't hold a whole pound of bacon.
It doesn't fit 4 haddock fillets at one time. Liver and onions (droooool) requires two batches of onions and countless batches of liver pieces.
It's like cooking with dollhouse furniture.
As you can imagine, it doesn't see much use in this house. It is, however, the first pan I reach for when presented with meat, fish, potatoes...most everything.
This year, Santa decided it was time to upgrade to the 12 inch. And for good measure (and because he knows it will get used here) he threw in the 16inch.
butter and an egg, for scale. And my crooked fingers.
Holy Moly. Now THAT's what I'm talking about! I can't lift it. Even with two hands.
But that's okay; I don't plan to take it for walks.
Let's just say that without The Old Ten-incher, there would likely have been a Thing One-And-A-Half, and one completely insane postpartum Mother breastfeeding Two Things.
(Note to OB/GYN's everywhere: Six weeks my left foot!)
I slept with that skillet for a year.
Apparently, I eventually fell asleep.
He's not at all sure this was a good idea.
p.s. We'd already used the big one, and I took pictures before we'd oiled it. Distract yourself from the soiled-looking interior by looking at my filthy stove.