I snapped this photo the other night as I was cooking dinner:
It may not look like much, but I realized something interesting – how un-ironic it is. After baking the bread I wanted to keep it warm while I cooked the rest of our dinner in the oven, so I wrapped it in a cloth – a tea towel made from some of my mom’s vintage fabric – and rested it on my cast iron skillet – the only skillet I ever use – over the warm stove. The speckled enamel teapot in the corner (which has no exciting story behind it, alas – it’s Paula Dean, via Amazon) completes the picture, doesn’t it?
But what gets me is that this wasn’t contrived at all – it was completely automatic on my part.
That’s either kinda scary, or kinda scary-awesome. And I’m not sure which.
PS>Does it help if I tell you I was wearing my favorite flowery apron when I took this?
PPS>This makes me hopelessly lame, doesn’t it? It’s ok; be honest. I can take it.