Well Seasoned

I have an old set of cast iron pans that hang near my stove. Sleekly black, they are well oiled, well seasoned, and industrially beautiful. It's true, as Mike suggests that they are tempered and seasoned by each meal prepared before- to scrub them and rid them of this layer of seasoning would not only destroy the delicate flavour which is infused in each meal I prepare, but it would render the pans unprotected, and impart only a bland ferrous sharpness for flavour.

I have learned to accept that all the experiences of my life have seasoned me as well, to make me the salty/spicy/sweet woman I am today, but sometimes you do need to re-season the pan, scrub away the shards of burned onion to make the pancakes sweet. The catharsis I seek has less to do with accepting the pan as it is, and more to do with my desire to be metaphorically clanged over the psychic head with solid flat black iron, to start out fresh and new, and see my beautiful future swell before me like limpid pools, like Wilma Flinstone's eyes.