The Cast-Iron Chicken Murder Pan

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Hello, friend.

Well… I was going to say nice things about this week’s recipes, but nah.
Okay—maybe about one of them.
The rest? I’ll tell it the way Bourdain would’ve wanted: honest, a little cruel, and with the profanity left in for seasoning.

The day started normally. I was well-rested, I’d shopped for everything, I knew exactly what I needed to do.

Then, of course, life had other plans.
If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s that things will not go according to plan.

That line is aspirational for me. In theory, I’d love to say I’m not afraid to look like an idiot.
In practice? Terrified. But here I am, putting myself out there anyway—whether it goes well or spectacularly does not.

Remember the second issue, when I broke the cheese sauce by cooking it too hot?
You might not. But I do.

My consolation is that you, dear reader, will learn from my mistakes so you don’t have to step in the same pile of shit.

The Tale of Two Dinners

Earlier this week, I was flipping through Appetites trying to pick a recipe.
Roasted Cauliflower with Sesame (Appetites, pg. 241) caught my eye.

I loathe raw cauliflower but adore roasted cauliflower.

I’ve had glorious versions in my life — including a whole roasted head glazed with balsamic vinegar at a long-forgotten Salt Lake City restaurant in the early 2000s. The chef’s name is gone from memory, but the memory of the dish lingers.

This recipe, though, breaks the cauliflower into florets, tosses them with oil, salt, coriander, and black pepper, roasts at 450°F, then dresses them in a tahini/white miso/red wine vinegar sauce.

Decadent.
When Anthony wrote, “An adult could eat the entire head of cauliflower and feel good about it,” he wasn’t exaggerating.

And Then I Got Cocky

In my infinite wisdom, I decided to pair it with Cast-Iron Grilled Chicken (Appetites, p. 167). Tahini-flavored cauliflower and chicken marinated in yogurt, cumin, and cardamom seemed perfectly complementary.

I mixed the ingredients and marinated the chicken for a few hours.

Pitfall #1: don’t use thick Greek yogurt if the recipe doesn’t specify it. Use regular, runny yogurt. You’ll end up like me, patting the thighs dry with half a roll of paper towels trying to remove the sticky marinade before grilling.

The recipe says: use a cast-iron grill pan or an outdoor grill.
I own two grill pans. Do I use them? Rarely.
One is so heavy it could easily flatten the side of someone’s head.

I also have a perfectly good outdoor grill.
But in a moment of misguided loyalty to the recipe title, I chose the cast-iron murder pan.
For your sanity, don’t. Use the outdoor grill, well-oiled.

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What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

I know how to cook with cast iron: heat the pan, add oil, wait for it to shimmer, add food.
I can even fry eggs in cast iron without sticking.

But a grill pan is a different beast.

I followed the instructions. I brushed grapeseed oil into every groove, flipped on the vent fan (and the vent boost, because I didn’t want to have to talk to the alarm company yet again), and laid the thighs on the near-glowing ridges.

I expected a crust to form on the ridge lines and the meat to release.
Maybe the pan was too hot. Maybe it wasn’t seasoned well enough. (It has been living on the bottom rack of my oven for weeks, occasionally getting a wipe down of oil and reheated during every baking session. It should be plenty seasoned.)

But the chicken stuck. Hard.

I nudged the thighs with tongs, tried to pry them loose, even tried to work a thin fish spatula under the meat. Nothing. Finally, in a panic (they were beginning to burn), I grasped them in the tongs and ripped them off the pan.

They shredded. The bits in direct contact with the ridges mostly stayed put like hostages without a plea deal. The other side cooked fine, because of course it did.

By the time I jammed the meat thermometer into a couple of thighs and piled the whole mess onto a plate, I was steaming—emotionally and literally.

If I’d been making shredded chicken, great. As it was, I had a plate that looked like a culinary crime scene and a photographer’s nightmare.

I drizzled on hot sauce (the recipe recommends it), shoved a few parsley sprigs into the middle like an apology bouquet, and snapped a couple of pictures.

Where Was the Ghost?

On the other side of the bar. Folded up behind the hydroponic tomato garden, avoiding the onslaught of profanity I was hurling at the chicken.

I caught his eye through the branches. “Well?” I said.

He shrugged. “You should have used the grill outside.”

If I could have thrown that stupid grill pan at him, I would have.
But the cherry tomatoes are ripening nicely, and I’m not sacrificing them to my rage.

So Now I Have Options:

• Return it to the cupboard… after 20 minutes of scrubbing.

• Scrub and re-season it two or three times, then try again.

• Put it under a potted plant and let it catch the runoff water.

Opinions and suggestions welcome.

In reverence and rebellion,
Michelle Davis

🍳 P.S.

If you’re new here, this is Cooking with Anthony’s Ghost —
Missives from a Messy Kitchen, where I cook through Anthony Bourdain’s recipes and report back with equal parts reverence and chaos.

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