Coming soon, to a kitchen near you. Anon, anon...

I have three cast-iron skillets: Papa, Mama, and Baby pan, all well seasoned and in regular use, plus a cast-iron wok, purchased from L.L.Bean when they still sold ironware. I also had fireplace andirons with a cooking grill from L.L. Bean but I gave them to my son-in-law when I moved away from a fireplace (sigh). My first cast-iron skillet was a wedding present and I’ve had it ever since, long after my Wear-Ever aluminum pots became obsolescent and possibly harmful. Is it still a well-known fact that cooking with cast-iron is healthy because you ingest iron from the food cooked in it? Nice thought these days when so many incidental side effects are dangerous, if not life threatening.

So – the bonus. I read the New York Times Cooking features on line. Recently Mark Bittman, a regular, staff contributor, ran a recipe for roast chicken in a skillet, dead simple and drop dead delicious. He said if you didn’t already own a cast-iron skillet, this recipe was good enough to justify buying one. I’ve done it twice (never trust a cook who has tried something only once) and it is really good, and comforting. Make sure your skillet is large enough to accommodate your chicken. And be sure to have your oven mitts handy.

Put the skillet on a lower rack of the oven and turn on the heat, setting it for 500 degrees Fahrenheit. (I’m too old for Celsius – that’s another discussion.)

Wipe the chicken, cut off any extra fat, rub a little salt (less than a tablespoon) in the cavity, if you can get your hand in. I buy my chicken trussed and keep it that way so I don’t have to use skewers or string. It sits very nicely on its doubled-up wings, breast side up. Pat some sea salt over the body and grind some black pepper over it and rub it all over with good olive oil. (I have a friend who doesn’t like olive oil so the second time I cooked this, I rubbed it with canola oil. Not as good to my taste.)

When the oven and the skillet reach 500 degrees, lift the skillet out (top of the stove is safest) and put the chicken gently into it – with a satisfying sizzle.

Put it back into the oven and let it cook for 15 minutes at that heat before lowering the temperature to 350 degrees. Let it roast for about an hour. I didn’t bother checking the weight of the bird; it fit my pan, that’s all I needed to know.

Num.

I remember a science fiction story I read years ago, so long ago that it was before I made a point of noticing who wrote it. So my apologies to whoever you are.

The story was about a man, human, I think, who is the sole survivor of his space ship’s crash on this strange, fairly habitable planet. The oxygen level is not quite rich enough for him but he finds if he takes deep breaths more frequently he can move and function quite well. He finds edible food that doesn’t appeal to him but he can digest it and it nourishes him and keeps him alive while he sets about making a home – at least a dwelling of sorts. The water, too, is strange to his taste, but palatable and though it stings his skin when he washes in it, he feels refreshed and clean after the shower he rigs up. And so he goes on, keeping busy. (I always wonder how?) Eventually, after who knows how long, he celebrates something – some achievement he has managed – and he is pleased with the special food and drink he has prepared for himself. He looks forward to enjoying it at his evening meal. He has a shower after his day’s efforts (?) and enjoys scrubbing his very large chest, hugely expanded since he first arrived. (Deep breathing, get it?) He also enjoys the water sluicing over his carapace.

I guess that was the first time I read that word. I told you this was years ago. Carapace is a wonderful word, and ou can use it as a metaphor. Its meaning is very evocative:

carapace |ˈkarəpeɪs| noun: the hard upper shell of a tortoise, crustacean, or arachnid

Evocative, yes.

as I remember it, that was the conclusion of the story, that this person had adapted to the planet he survived on: thinner air, harsh water, strange-tasting food had changed him. Carapace, indeed!

My point is, and I do have a point, is that I have been living on a strange planet in my own home, adapting to the demands and deprivations of the Whole30 régime. I have been very faithful, rigid, in fact, adhering to the rules. It’s been 26 days now. In another four days I can assess what I have learned and accomplished. I’m sure I haven’t developed a carapace but that’s why I told you the story, because I thought of it.

I wonder if I look any different?