Must I Say Goodbye?

It just may be time to say goodbye to my Mario Batali Cast Iron Grill and Pressini-maker (my Mario, as I affectionately call him). He was a gift given to us several years back and I love it. He's stylish - square in shape, red in colour and solid like its namesake. And, at least in the beginning, he grilled like no other, infusing my meals with a smokey and sultry flavour.

Usually, when using my Mario it gets a little smokey indoors. But, the past several times I've grilled, the apartment has filled with such billows of smoke that I feared the fire alarm would sound.

But it was the other night's smoke-fest that nearly reduced me to tears. I truly felt betrayed by my Mario.

So, here's what happened. When I was last at the market, I selected the most delectable-looking zucchinis, eggplants, peppers and tomatoes, as well as softened goat cheese, pocket-less whole-wheat pita bread and fresh thyme. The ingredients were going to make grilled veggie pressinis.

These sandwiches were going to prove my Mario had every right to remain in my kitchen (lately Mr. Oh has been unhappy with the smoke-effect and has been chiding me to get rid of the pan for good).

So, after getting home from work the other night, I got to work on my pressinis. I cut up the veggies, tossed them with olive oil, salt, pepper and thyme, and slid them into the oven. I was going to use the grill, but with the amount of veggies I had prepared I needed a much larger medium to bake them (thank goodness I did). Within 20 minutes my home was filled with the aromas of summer.

Upon pulling out the cookie sheet with my wilted medley, I sampled a few of each. They were cooked through perfectly, well-seasoned if I don't say so myself. Good start, right?

So, I turn the heat up on my grill (medium as per usual) and begin assembling my sandwiches. I place the first onto the flame and begin working on the second.

Within seconds - SECONDS!!! - an intense smell insults my nostrils, the pan is releasing piles of smoke, quickly filling my kitchen and apartment with a thick white fog. I pull the pan off the flame, do a mad dash to the window (damn window only opens a palm-width wide), then the door to release the smoke into the hallway (yes, my neighbours love me!) and back to the stove where the pan continued to puff.

I made the rest of the sammies and used the trustworthy oven to warm them through. They were very tasty, but the pita wasn't as crispy as I wanted, it didn't have the smokey taste I so desired and the grill marks were nowhere to be seen.

As I ate, I replayed the sequence of events. And, listened to Mr. Oh bemoan my Mario, telling me it was time to get rid of him.

My heart sank, not my Mario! I know, he failed me. But they say cast iron pans only get better with age. That they last lifetimes (note the plural here), are a great way to cook healthfully (as they require little oil) and safely (as it cooks food through evenly).

I was - I am - heartbroken. But can I just give up on my Mario? Maybe he's just going through a rough patch. I'm sure he'll do better next time.