Today I pur­chased a new wok.

This is not some­thing I planned to do. I’ve been happy with the one I have, dispite the grimy rivets, beat-up handle and warped, burned bottom. Like an old blanket, it’s just some­thing I’m com­fort­able with.

My wife isn’t. She doesn’t like the way it tilts when resting on the burner. She is put off by the fact that, even when cleaned, the cooking sur­face sheds a little bit of rust (espe­cially when not pro­tected by a light coating of oil). She doesn’t like the cheap lid.

I real­ized today that my wok is more than twelve years old. I can still remember standing in the kitchen of my own apart­ment in Chapel Hill, frying ginger and garlic in prepa­ra­tion for a dish. The year before was my ill-conceived attempt at a beef stir fry with apples and cin­namon. There was soup with tofu and pineapple and fra­grant curry in a kitchen I shared with 4 much older and more mature housemates.

There were won­derful Thai dishes from my favorite cookbook.

I don’t remember exactly when I got this wok, so I don’t remember the ear­liest meals I cooked in it. I believe it was a Christmas gift from my mother. I remember taking the respon­si­bility of sea­soning it very seri­ously. I got it during the early stages of a culi­nary awak­ening that was fos­tered by people who are now old friends. Since that time I have used my wok to make stir fry, hot dogs, steamed pork buns, fish, soup, que­sadillas, pad thai, omelets, pan­cakes, and toast. It has been the most fre­quently uti­lized weapon in my kitchen arsenal.

It is a relic of my past, a reminder of good times. Meals are always good times. At least the ones that I remember sharing with other people. I am for­tu­nate that there have been so many.

This evening we went to Bed Bath and Beyond and bought a Cal­phalon stain­less steel wok. Stain­less will be easier to care for and stur­dier than the carbon steel I’ve had. The new wok is deep, has a good heft, and comes with a sturdy glass lid. I’m mar­ried now, with a child on the way, and I have the grown up kitchen imple­ments to prove it.

I think the first thing we make with it will be my wife’s excel­lent Ma Po tofu.

So I say a heart­felt farewell to my old, dirty, rusted, bent, loved old friend. Thanks for being there as I grew up.