Iron Supplement

Having last year praised my pots and pans unto the heavens, the irony of buying a new one was not lost on me as I surveyed the cast iron skillets at my local hardware store.

I have long coveted one of these black beauties and finally broke down and bought one a few days ago (they are never very expensive, but who can resist a post-holiday cookware sale?). I brought my treasure home, seasoned it diligently, and - feeling like a pioneer matriarch on the high prairie - considered my options.

You may talk amongst yourselves as I make a small detour and climb up onto my soapbox. Readers may recall my disgust with the gluten-free Bread of Doom available locally and my determination to find other vessels for jam and confiture delivery. When I say other vessels, I mean honest products that are not pumped full of chemicals in order to mimic a bread-like substitute that, frankly, one wouldn't feed to the dog. Something delicious that I could make in my own kitchen and feel proud of - something that would do justice to fine home-made preserves or compotes. What with one thing or another my search never really gained momentum, with the tragic result that Toad's excellent home-made marmalade has languished in the fridge for over a month, untasted (by me, anyway).

As I pondered my new skillet, I achieved enlightenment. Cornbread!

I didn't have any cornmeal on hand, but some time ago I purchased, as part of my g/f flour trials, a one-and-a-half pound bag of organic whole-grain corn flour (stone ground!) from Bob and his Red Mill. Since the packet urges consumers to 'try making your favorite cornbread recipe with OW-GCF instead of corn meal - you'll find your cornbread richer!' and I am a very obedient girl, I did what I was told and whipped up a batch.

Here is how I made the most delicious Gluten-Free Cornbread ever:

I deposited a biggish blob of shortening (between one and two tablespoons, probably) in my new ten-inch cast iron skillet. I popped it into a cool oven and turned the thermostat to 450 deg F.

I made sufficient buttermilk by taking two cups of organic 2% milk (the only stuff I'll buy since last month's foods-that-will-kill-you scare) and stirring in two tablespoons of Japanese rice vinegar (the most innocuous vinegar I could find in the pantry). While it sat for five minutes, bubbling, I beat together two eggs until they were good and frothy. I whisked in the buttermilk.

In another bowl, I measured out one and three-quarters cups of corn flour, one teaspoon of baking powder, one teaspoon of baking soda, a generous pinch of salt, and a generous pinch of sugar. I decided to keep it simple, leaving out peppers or dried fruit, on the off-chance that my scheme didn't work.

When I judged my oven and pan to be hot, I whisked the milk/eggs into the flour mixture, quickly pulled the now-smoking pan from the oven, and dumped the whole lot in. It spattered and spit in an extremely satisfactory way. I hastily returned the pan to its designated shelf in the hotbox.

When I retrieved the skillet twenty minutes later, it looked very pretty, if I say so myself:

We ate warm wedges with butter and Toad's sublime orange marmalade. It was sheer bliss: fresh and delicious. The cornbread was not at all gritty in the way that it can sometimes be, so if that's how you like yours, flour probably isn't the way to go. I myself am not so keen on the traditional sandy texture that cornmeal imparts - perhaps my life north of the Mason-Dixon line is to blame. This bread was soft and fluffy - creamy, almost, like polenta - with a delectable crispy crust. I thought it was fantastic and will be buying corn flour henceforward.

Sir, who is from a benighted country where 'corn' means 'wheat', had never tasted anything like it. His initial reaction was [quote]: 'I can see I could be accustomed to it, but it's not in my culture.' He subsequently ate two wedges and agreed that the leftovers would make excellent stuffing for poultry - so I would call him a convert and the day a complete success.

As I side-bar, I should note that we wrapped the remaining slice in foil and heated it in the oven for dinner the following night. Although the crust was no longer crisp, it was tasty, tasty, tasty.

Gluten-free or not, it was damn fine cornbread.