My mother would be impressed with some of the dishes I’ve mastered using her old cast-iron skillet, like the sky high clafoutis that has become my dad’s favorite in recent years. She would have never dreamed that skillet and I would travel to cook on stages in New York, Houston, Dallas, or Cleveland, and all around my home state of Alabama, too. It’s even made it on television with me a few times. I know she’d have loved to join me on these adventures, and in a way, bringing her skillet makes me feel like she’s there. So when I tell airport security that I have cast iron in my carry-on, I’m sure to include that it’s my mother’s heirloom skillet. More often than not, they smile and wave me on through.