Tattoos like mile markers

An ode to my new (and only) tattoo:

Photo cred to ma boy Jamen Berk

The funny thing is, this is NOT the tattoo I have been thinking about/mulling over for the past 6 to 9 months. I had, in fact, just recently thought of a cast-iron skillet as an option, maybe a month or a few weeks before getting it done. I don't know, it just felt right... 

People love to ask the meaning behind tattoos, so I thought I'd sum up mine:

First - there's the food. Food has and will always be a very important part of my life. In my family, the act of cooking and eating has always been special, even sacred. Between my mother, my godfather, my dad, my brother, our friends... There is always amazing food to be made and had in the Garrison house. We love food, and we love to share it, and we love to make it, and we love doing all of it together.

Then - the cast-iron. Like any good Southern woman, my mother has collected cast-iron throughout her life, having never less than four pieces of cast-iron cookware hanging from the oak beam that makes up much of the storage for the Garrison family cooking vessels:

Just a few examples

There's just something different, better, about the way a well-seasoned cast-iron skillet fries an egg, or crisps up the bottom of a pan of cornbread. Be it roasted vegetables, a frittata, fried okra - a large percentage of the wonderful dishes that are made in the Garrison house have come out of a cast-iron skillet.

So, in a word, my tattoo means home.

Hell, if you want to delve deeper, maybe span a little wider, it's about the South, and Mississippi. I love this crazy place, despite (and possibly because of) its flaws. Sure, she's got a few blemishes, but don't we all?

Anyhow. Here are a few examples of what I've created in my very own cast-iron skillets (because, of course, my mother has purchased several for me, from flea markets everywhere):

Roasted brussel sprouts

Fried green tomatoes

Fried eggs (over-easy, please)

Cornbread

That last picture: was the original plan. A tattoo on my forearm of my mom's cornbread recipe (because every time I try to make it I forget how much baking powder/baking soda). A pragmatic tattoo, in a way. I mean, it's a tragedy when you mix up the soda and powder, let me tell you...

Maybe next time.