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I left and immediately got myself a black steel pan. I’ve been scouring it with salt and oil to season it ever since, understanding that I’m deeper in a hole, further away from making my ideal omelet than I realized. The other day, as I was scrubbing on my pan again, trying to make new metal old, a friend found me. Gently, but sort of pityingly, she asked, “What … are you doing?”
Okay, so maybe it’s a little much, this obsession of mine. But tell me: How many places in your life do you know, really know, what perfection looks like? How many ways do you know to chase after perfection?
For me, the first step is to figure out how to keep my pan from rusting.
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