The Best All Purpose Pan: Why Old-School Beats New Trends

You ever see those pans they advertise on Instagram? Everything soft-focus and pastel, like someone built cookware for a reclaimed-wood tiny home where no one’s ever burned garlic or flipped bacon without a shirt on. “All-purpose” they say—but I swear those handles would shatter just from the sound of a cast iron being dropped nearby.

Last weekend I’m out in the Wasatch, campfire burping smoke into the pines, and we’re passing beers around while I’m trying to char up some skirt steak on this old skillet I’ve been dragging around for over a decade. Heavy as guilt and blackened from misuse. I bought it used, and it still looked old back then. Now? It hums when it gets hot. You just know when it’s ready. That pan’s seasoned like a jaded bartender—doesn’t flinch, doesn’t stick, doesn’t need your pity.

So someone—new guy, tech sales or something—he points at it and goes, “Why not just get one of those ceramic nonstick ones? The all-in-one kind?” I look down at my pan, handle chipped like a crooked tooth, and I almost fucking laugh. You want me to replace this thing with some influencer’s idea of rustic?

Let me tell you what makes a pan “all-purpose.”

First off, it has to be able to survive the kind of places where purpose actually happens.

Not your subway-tile backsplash or open shelving. I mean out there, where wind doesn’t politely knock. Where grease catches fire, potholes rattle trunks, and nobody remembers the tongs. If it can’t handle firewood ash brushing up against the base, or being buried under a sleeping bag and a half-eaten bag of Fritos, it isn’t "all-purpose." It’s interior decor.

Second—it has to get better with age.

Most of the stuff shoved at us these days is meant to die quickly so we can keep buying it. Doesn’t matter if it’s made of upcycled ocean dreams or anodized marketing copy. Durability, true durability, looks ugly sometimes. My cast iron doesn’t gleam. It screams. Every inch of that pan tells a story—of screw-ups, campfires, breakups, elk chili, hangover tortillas, victory steaks, you name it. You want the best all purpose pan? Find one that already has flaws. One that welcomes yours.

Third—and this is personal—it should teach you something.

Cast iron teaches patience. Improvisation. Teaches you that heat is more than a number on a dial. That maintenance is its own kind of respect. That even if everything else in life feels rushed or disposable, you can slow down, heat something honest, eat around a circle and share it straight from the metal.

So yeah—sure, maybe there’s a place for the 16-in-1, space-age-plated, influencer-blessed miracle pans. If you’re sautéing cherry tomatoes on a condo stovetop or pretending Sunday brunch is a spiritual practice. That just ain’t my scene.

I want a pan that makes me want to pass it down—not one I'll forget in a landfill next year. One that'll outlive me, scars and all. That's what I call all-purpose.