Except when I say that I inherited it, I really mean that the previous tenants of my apartment left it here and I found it and now it’s mine. Because finder’s keepers.
I would feel more guilty about having technically stolen this skillet if it weren’t so dang heavy, you know? I mean, the move-outers clearly left it here. No room/strength to lug it out of the place, I guess. Plus it was all cobwebbed and rusty, which is no way to treat a skillet. I had to rescue it. At any rate, I use it now and imagine that it was once my great great grandmother’s who used it to make blintzes and apple cake and dutch babies, and that’s that.
Thievery and nostalgia aside, let’s talk about skillet cake. “Visiting cake,” as the wonderful Dorie Greenspan calls this one. Isn’t the name kind of perfect? Cake and visits should go hand in hand, I think. Anyway, I’m not entirely sure what makes this cake Swedish, but we are all children of the world and this cake is good so let’s just eat it.