Being as I am somewhere near 15 months pregnant with a 30 pound baby girl, my husband took on the task of seasoning the iron skillet. His way worked fairly well. Best I can tell, he covered it in Crisco and put it in the oven on 400 degrees. He then completely forgot about it. I found it in the oven the next morning. It was nice and toasty black. Any time that I wake up starving, I can guarantee that one of us has left something in the oven overnight that should not be in the oven overnight. The smell gets me. Many things are surprisingly edible after cooking for 8 hours or so. Anyway, I'm not certain that I would recommend his method for safety reasons, but it did work.
I have failed miserably at this task for years. For some reason, I cannot properly care for an iron skillet. I do love an iron skillet. My favorite thing to cook in it is green beans. I put the green beans in with some olive oil, pepper, salt, and a little soy sauce. Then I cook them on high and get a little brown to them. You may not like it, but it is the way my momma made them so it is the correct way. No further conversation necessary. Years ago when I was moving from my home town, a wonderful family friend gave me what she labeled a “me-sized” iron skillet. It was small and all I needed, and I use it most often now. My problem is that I have never felt like I have gotten it properly seasoned. My most recent attempt made it look partially seasoned, but then it started peeling. I really don’t know what the deal is. This is a simple task any Southerner should be able to master. Cover it in vegetable shortening and put in a 300 degree oven for an hour. Those are simple directions. Maybe I would fare better with more complex directions that require several temperature changes and a magic wand. I will try it again and let you know how it turns out.
Every proper southern woman must be proficient at writing a thank you note. I have gotten quite a bit of practice over the past few weeks. Wonderful family and friends have showered us with lots of items for the baby girl on her way. I tried very hard to make each note apply specifically to the gift giver. This is much harder than it sounds, and I do hope that everyone reads their note. It would be so much easier to have a stamp that says, "Dear _______. Thank you for the ___________. You are very thoughtful." Even if there was such a stamp, I could not use it. It would defeat the purpose of this website, and society as a whole would collapse. If you have any tips on writing the perfect thank you note, let me know. I spend a great deal of time in the notes discussing past events or funny stories and very little time thanking for the gift. I guess I should write more emails to people. Apparently, Facebook is not fulfilling my communication needs.
Just because you are a Southerner, it does not mean that you grew up in the country. Growing up in the country is a badge of honor not just across the South. My husband is proud to say that he grew up in a county with more cows than people. That was in New York. I never considered myself to have grown up in the country. We were town people; small town people granted, but we were just a couple of miles from the grocery store. I do remember one thing from childhood that made me feel as though we might be from the country. During elementary school, I remember being on lock down because a bull was running loose. I really need help defining "growing up in the country." Do you have to drive more than 20 minutes to get to a real grocery store? Is your pet a pig? Do you know how to milk a cow? I have witnessed the wringing of chickens' necks by one of my grandmothers. That would probably be a check mark in the country column, as well as a traumatic childhood memory. I'm pretty sure the other grandmother fed us rabbit one time, calling it chicken. That may be a check mark as well. You tell me.