Our very clever, very clothed Never Cook Naked columnists, Mark Scarbrough and Bruce Weinstein, are at your disposal, able to troubleshoot everything from questionable table etiquette to tricky cooking techniques (as well as, natch, proper cooking attire). Curious to learn more solutions to culinary conundrums? You may wish to peruse previously asked questions, starting with the last column’s answers pertaining to how to ensure dinner is served warm and not lukewarm, why spinach has a filmy grittiness, and the do’s and don’ts of buying truffle oil. Or you can listen to Mark and Bruce answer your questions on the air when you listen to our new podcast, Talking With My Mouth Full, where they give you plenty to think, not to mention laugh, about.
Caring For Cast Iron
Dear Never Cook Naked Guys: Okay, so what about the great debate over caring for cast iron? To scrub or not to scrub? Soap or no soap?—Clean Freak
Dear Clean Freak: If you ever come to our house and scrub our cast-iron cookware with soap, we’re never inviting you back. You can forget about a Christmas letter, too.
Back when one of us was in cooking school and the other was passed out drunk in grad school somewhere, the culinary instructors kept their cast-iron omelet pans under lock and key lest any student be dumb enough to wash them. See, the surface of cast iron is a warren of microscopic nicks and gashes. Over time—and after enough frying—fat fills in these crevasses. This creates a smooth, sealed surface, thereby lending the cookware a naturally nonstick finish.
Soap dissolves that prized patina of crud. Wash a nicely seasoned skillet with suds just once and there goes years of work, quite literally, down the drain. Cast-iron cookware should instead be cleaned with coarse-grain salt. Think kosher salt. Pour some in the skillet, add a little warm water, and work the crystals back and forth across the surface with a wadded-up paper towel (leave that sponge in the sink; it may contain some residual soap). You’ll dislodge burned-on bits without destroying the built-up finish. Rinse the cookware, then place it over high heat until it’s smoking to 1. sterilize it, 2. preserve the coating, and 3. dry the pan out completely so the iron doesn’t rust. Cool the cookware to room temp and it’s ready to go.
Do this and you’ll end up with a shiny nonstick surface. Plus, you’ll stay in our good graces. This year’s Christmas letter promises to be more detailed than ever: every meal we ate, every dish we cooked, every vacation we enjoyed, every breath we took. Thrilling. Just thrilling.
Wooden Spoon Wisdom
Dear Never Cook Naked Guys: Many recipes say you should “stir with a wooden spoon.” I love my wooden spoons, but I’m curious: What is it about them that so distinguishes them in cooking? Is this just old-fashioned recipespeak?—Still Spooning in the Kitchen
Dear Spooning: Once upon a time, when the world was young and forested, wood was cheap. In prototypical engravings from eighteenth-century France, scullery maids fended off the drunkards with raised wooden spoons, the tool of the trade. Those maids, it seems, begat food writers.
Today, metal’s more abundant. But ye olde culinary lingo still has some merit. You want to use a wooden spoon on tinned copper and enameled cast iron, at the very minimum. After all, you’ve foregone contributions to your IRA to get the highfalutin cookware, so you want to keep it nice. That’s where the wooden spoons come in, as metal ones can nick or scratch the surface.
That said, wooden spoons are not fit for some pots and pans—like those with nonstick surfaces, which need the soft touch of heat-resistant silicone gadgets.
So yes, a wooden spoon is a cliché. But a worthwhile one. Like France.
Become A Better Baker
Dear Never Cook Naked Guys: I’d love to figure out the secret to baking. I’m convinced it’s like having a green thumb: You either have it or you don’t. As carefully as I read and follow a recipe to a tee, it’s a 50/50 chance it will come out perfectly.—Type A Personality
Dear Type A Personality: We have a friend who claims he doesn’t have a green thumb. We’ve watched him garden. He makes holes in the ground with the heel of his sneaker, dumps in some seeds, and then is amazed when nothing comes up.
He’s just going through the motions. Not even. And he’s not practicing.
The same goes for baking. It’s all a matter of practice. That pie crust may not work the first time you roll it out. You may need to try again. And again. And again. That’s not much consolation on an average Wednesday night after work. But we doubt you’re doing much serious baking on a Wednesday night after work, anyways.
Also, embrace your inner fussiness. Baking is an exacting science. Measure carefully. Follow the instructions exactly. If the butter is supposed to be at room temperature, then leave it out on the counter until it’s nice and mushy. If the eggs are supposed to be at room temperature, leave them out on the counter for 20 minutes or dip them in a bowl of warm (not hot) water for 2 or 3 minutes.
And don’t make substitutions. We once spent an evening teaching a friend how to make pie crust. When she tried on her own a week later, she complained that the results were a rank disaster. When we pressed further, she admitted she’d substituted cornstarch for the flour. “They’re both white,” she reasoned.
And then there’s this: What’s with the “perfect” stuff anyway? Forget the TV chefs. Those people have battalions off camera to make everything look so great.
Instead, keep at it. A baker’s grasp should always exceed his—or her—reach. With apologies to Robert Browning.
Got more questions? Good. We do, too. That is, more questions AND answers. In case you missed the mention above, for more cooking etiquette and enigmas explained, you can take a peek at previous columns from our Never Cook Naked Guys. Anything pertaining to food or drink goes. Well, anything within reason. But first, those previously tended-to questions we promised….
Illustration © 2013 Eric Hanson. All rights reserved.