I love a real fire, but it’s just not safe or practical to have one everywhere.
Last time I used a Trangia was when I was in the Scouts, about 25 years ago, which makes me feel ancient. Though the Trangia 27 which I just got was first released in 1957, according to Google. This is interesting because that is exactly half way between World War 2 ending and Led Zeppelin releasing their debut album. Is there a name for someone who enjoys examples like this of where The Old meets The New? Not the name you’re thinking of, that’s rude.
Anyway, immediately on opening and removing the paper dividers from this Trangia, it seemed familiar. It evoked the memories of the smell of cheap rashers of back bacon being fried at too-low a temperature outside of a big canvas tent, until they were warm but still anaemic looking. The memory of a soot covered hand as I tried to clean dented steel with damp grass, a used teabag or in one case my friend’s sleeping bag because he was being annoying.
I’ve not cooked anything in it yet, though if memory serves me they had a tendency to be ‘clean’ to the point of impracticality, because the bare, unseasoned metal used to make even butter stick to it.
There was a point in military history where the gas parts of rifles went from being uncoated steel, to some kind of teflon coated parts. People would return their rifles to the armoury and be sharply rebuked because their gas parts ‘were not clean!’, because they were still ‘black and sooty’ to the eyes of an old sweat. Back they went with the wire wool, scrubbing until the gas parts were steel coloured and ineffective once more. This is the fear a shiny metal Trangia strikes in me.
So job one was ruining the frying pan and my younger Scout self’s dreams by making the pan all dirty looking. I took the same approach I’d take with a cast iron pan, though Google tells me that the melting point of Aluminium is 660C so was extra vigilant. A thin layer of vegetable oil on the pan, maintain it at smoke point (about 240C), wipe clean and then reapply a teenyweeny thin layer again, repeat. I did this in the oven a few times, then switched to the hob to finish it off with a few more rapidly applied layers. I heard somewhere that frying spring onions with salt in it at a high heat does something, too, so I also did that. I suspect it’s an old wive’s tale, but old wives aren’t often stupid so I did it anyway.
It’s got some way to go before it gets that lovely, solid season on it, but I think we’re good to get going for now.
I’m at least semi-confident that I could fry an egg on it without it sticking now. Perhaps a fried breakfast would be a good First Trangia Meal as an adult. I think I’ll give it a go soon and report back, once my meths has arrived. £10 for 500ml they wanted at Halfords! No thank you.
Last time I used a Trangia was when I was in the Scouts, about 25 years ago, which makes me feel ancient. Though the Trangia 27 which I just got was first released in 1957, according to Google. This is interesting because that is exactly half way between World War 2 ending and Led Zeppelin releasing their debut album. Is there a name for someone who enjoys examples like this of where The Old meets The New? Not the name you’re thinking of, that’s rude.
Anyway, immediately on opening and removing the paper dividers from this Trangia, it seemed familiar. It evoked the memories of the smell of cheap rashers of back bacon being fried at too-low a temperature outside of a big canvas tent, until they were warm but still anaemic looking. The memory of a soot covered hand as I tried to clean dented steel with damp grass, a used teabag or in one case my friend’s sleeping bag because he was being annoying.
I’ve not cooked anything in it yet, though if memory serves me they had a tendency to be ‘clean’ to the point of impracticality, because the bare, unseasoned metal used to make even butter stick to it.
There was a point in military history where the gas parts of rifles went from being uncoated steel, to some kind of teflon coated parts. People would return their rifles to the armoury and be sharply rebuked because their gas parts ‘were not clean!’, because they were still ‘black and sooty’ to the eyes of an old sweat. Back they went with the wire wool, scrubbing until the gas parts were steel coloured and ineffective once more. This is the fear a shiny metal Trangia strikes in me.
So job one was ruining the frying pan and my younger Scout self’s dreams by making the pan all dirty looking. I took the same approach I’d take with a cast iron pan, though Google tells me that the melting point of Aluminium is 660C so was extra vigilant. A thin layer of vegetable oil on the pan, maintain it at smoke point (about 240C), wipe clean and then reapply a teenyweeny thin layer again, repeat. I did this in the oven a few times, then switched to the hob to finish it off with a few more rapidly applied layers. I heard somewhere that frying spring onions with salt in it at a high heat does something, too, so I also did that. I suspect it’s an old wive’s tale, but old wives aren’t often stupid so I did it anyway.
It’s got some way to go before it gets that lovely, solid season on it, but I think we’re good to get going for now.
I’m at least semi-confident that I could fry an egg on it without it sticking now. Perhaps a fried breakfast would be a good First Trangia Meal as an adult. I think I’ll give it a go soon and report back, once my meths has arrived. £10 for 500ml they wanted at Halfords! No thank you.
