Like the US, Mexico seems to prefer budget to quality. I think every hostel skillet I’ve used in Mexico has a loose handle, and more often than not, half the Teflon surface has been scratched off. The skillets are made of cheap metal which quickly sears anything cooked in them. Sometimes, there’s a broken handle and you have to move the pan using a towel. This was the case when I arrived at the dog hotel where I’d be spending the next two months, and there was just no way I could cook like that.

One of the benefits of the work exchange is that I can reduce costs by cooking my own meals, but I quickly began to long for the cast iron skillet I’d become accustomed to at home. I love the slow, even heating and the fact that it will continue to cook food long after the heat has been turned off.

After a week here, I decided to make it my mission to acquire one. At the weekend market, I asked vendors of kitchenware if they had one, and most looked at me as if they’d never heard of one. I thought, in a culture where so many are poor, why wouldn’t they invest in a skillet that would last forever?

I looked up the translation for cast iron skillet and finally came across a woman at a kitchen store who knew what I was talking about, as indicated by her follow up question to me: “heavy, right?”. When I said yes, she said she had one at home that she’d only used twice and would sell to me for $30 USD. Unfortunately it was a medium sized skillet, and I was looking for something large enough to cook meals for multiple nights. I told her I would look around and come back if I was still interested.

The next week, I went to the village of Ajijic on Lake Chapala. I call it Little America because it is filled with retirees from the US. While I don’t really like to visit ex-pat areas when traveling abroad (I’m traveling to get foreign experiences), they do tend to offer the comforts I occasionally find myself longing after months of travel.

Ajijic has been a source for such luxuries as blue cheese, prosciutto, and peanut butter. The tiny village is rumored to have over 100 restaurants, including two Thai places, so I was hopeful that there I might fight my cast iron skillet.

I left disappointed after visiting several kitchen stores, but one person recommended I visit Barbara’s Bazaar, a proprietor of second hand household goods. While it was a gold mine of used goods, somewhat akin to a boutique goodwill, they did not have a cast iron skillet. Still, I marveled at the ingenuity of having a second hand store in a town where people come to die. You’re blessed with an endless supply of new inventory!

Back in my own little village of Tlajomulco, I decided to try a coffee shop with a 50s diner theme. It turned out to be the project of a couple, one who was into coffee and one who was into 1950s American automobiles. The man told me that his girlfriend came up with the idea of letting him decorate the coffee shop with his memorabilia as opposed to their household.

The woman was in charge of the coffee and an apparent aficionado. Her boyfriend told me that they had to visit several different stores each week in order to procure the best combination of ingredients for her coffee store. I was so delighted with their company that I stayed for an hour and even ordered lunch from the place next door, which the woman also owned.

During our conversation, I mentioned my quest for the skillet. The man told me that he’d seen someone advertising cast iron skillets through Facebook marketplace, so when I got home I looked it up and found the seller. The skillets were listed as artisan, and there was a picture of scrap metal on the home page of his site.

I contacted him, and he gave me a price for the skillet: 500 pesos, which is about $25 USD. I responded that I was interested, and that’s the last I heard from him. I’d mentioned that I would be in his neighborhood in the next couple days but no reply. I messaged right before I headed to his neighborhood but no reply. I messaged him when I was leaving his neighborhood but still no reply.

I guess no matter what country you’re in, there are flakes. I tried to imagine what kind of person would turn away a guaranteed sale, especially during Covid times. My boss, at the dog park, told me that was fairly typical, and I shared with him the same about contractors in the US. If they do show up to give you a bid, more often than not, you never hear from them again.

The next weekend I went to Guadalajara so I figured I’d look for skillets there but had the same bad luck wherever I went. The only skillets sold in Mexico seemed to be of the cheap teflon variety with soon to be loose handles.

A few days after I returned from Guadalajara, I received a message from the artisan cast iron skillet maker. It said my order was ready, lending a sense of authenticity that he had actually made my skillet to order. In fact, the pictures on his Facebook profile really suggested that he’d forged it himself.

I asked him where I could pick up, and he responded by asking my address. I thought that it would be nice of him to deliver it, but after I sent my address, there was no reply. Again, I had to remind him that I had cash in hand and was ready to buy. After a few emails back and forth, he finally proposed a meeting place at a nearby shopping mall. I asked what entrance or store to which he replied “in the parking lot”. I was really beginning to wonder if this person had ever sold an item before.

When I arrived at the mall, I indicated the entrance I was waiting in front of, and he asked if I was in the parking lot. To further confuse the situation, you have to pay to park in the mall parking lots in Mexico. I assumed he would not want to pay for parking, thus reducing his profit, but he indicated he was in the parking lot. 

About 15 minutes later, a man approached me with a skillet wrapped in cellophane and a red bow on it. He apologized that it was smaller than I requested. It was still big enough for my purposes, but I didn’t miss the opportunity to ask how much less it would cost. He said $450 and produced 50 pesos when I handed him a 500, apparently anticipating the negotiation. It was one of the first times in Mexico I’ve ever experienced someone having the correct change. Both satisfied, we exchanged thank yous, and I headed to the bus stop.  

When I got home, I immediately seasoned the pan so it would be ready for my next saute. That night, I cooked chicken curry with vegetables and took a picture, which I sent to the artisan. I have to admit, the thing did appear to be hand forged, though I have no idea what metals were used. The pan was as heavy as any cast iron skillet I’ve ever used and had strike marks and imperfections that spoke to its handmade craftsmanship.

I used my heavy duty skillet for the next month until I left my work exchange. I considered leaving it behind in case someone else with my particular tastes came along but decided on another idea. The man at the coffee shop had indicated the reason he knew about the artisan skillets was because he wanted one himself and had been looking for one. I decided to give it to him as a parting gift, reclaimed the cellophane, and wrapped the handle in a bow.