Mom’s iron skillet that she fried potatoes and chicken in was a cinch to wash. Instead of dunking it in dishwater, you just wiped it clean to retain the “curing.” Now I throw soup makings into my crock pot instead of the iron Dutch oven lurking in my “never-used” cabinet. Plus, fried anything seldom makes my menu, unless it’s the guilt-ridden pleasure of a late night drive-through at In-N-Out Burger.
What made me think of Mom’s iron skillet was a passage I read about how Hopi women make piki. In Helen Sekaquaptewa’s autobiography, Me and Mine, she describes the process. If you’ve never tasted the airy delight (Think tortilla but 5 times as thin and rolled up.), you’re in for a treat. First locate a suitable flat stone about 2 feet wide and a couple inches thick, grind it smooth to a polish, fire it all day, then cure it with the oil from melon seeds. Now you’re ready. (You still with me?)
Mix a liquidy ground corn mixture and tint bowls of it with bright colors like you do when dying Easter eggs. Pour the batter onto your pre-heated piki stone. When it’s cooked just enough, roll it up with your hands without getting burned. See how easy that was?
It reminds me of the Alice B. Toklas Cookbook. (Oh, you didn’t know Gertrude Stein’s lover cooked?) Alice says that to cook a fish you begin by walking down to the dock to see what the fishermen are catching that day.
This food talk makes me hungry for lunch. Think I’ll sign off and microwave my Lean Cuisine of the day.
