For Perfect Filet Mignon, Reach for the *Pixie* Cast-Iron Skillet

Table for One is a column by Senior Editor Eric Kim, who loves cooking for himself—and only himself—and seeks to celebrate the beauty of solitude in its many forms.

So I have this tiny pan. Like, very tiny—pixie, really. It's so small it barely exists.

This 3.5-inch cast-iron skillet I bought years ago before I knew anything about cast iron: how to care for it, what it did, why it would become one of my favorite pans down the line.

But not at first. At first I bought it, I'll admit, because I needed a skillet—a compact, utilitarian little thing—to fry a single egg at a time. And when I tried to fry an egg in that new unseasoned cast iron, it stuck horribly. Pan: 1; Egg: 0. I lost about 97 percent of the egg to the pan, felt unutterably hoodwinked, and threw the skillet into the back of my cupboard never to be seen again.

Until one day I brought home a gorgeous, perfect filet mignon from my butcher. It was so tiny, so cute, so dainty. Dainty filet.

(Aw.)

Of course, when I went to rummage through the horror of my pots-and-pans cabinet, there it was: the traitorous uselessness that was my non-nonstick pixie skillet. But even I had to concede that it was the perfect shape, the perfect size for my steak. When I grabbed it and placed the filet into it to check, a choir of angels began to sing.

I may have cried a little.

Emotional, I walked the skillet over to the stove and put it over medium heat. I sprinkled some kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper over my filet, rolled it around so the sides got some of the goodness too, then added oil to the near-smoking pan and let the steak sear.

It seared beautifully. I let it go for 4 minutes on the first side and 3 minutes on the second side. Then I threw it into the oven to finish cooking through, something I had learned from Domenico Natale, the executive chef of Casa Lever. I once had a filet mignon there that changed my mind about filet mignon forever. Contrary to popular belief, it's a pretty beefy, flavorful cut, as long as you treat it right.

Filet mignon has been given undue consideration for far too long: Many criticize its leanness, its dryness, its flavorlessness. But actually, if you just cook it correctly—that is, give it a nice sear and let it finish in a hot oven for a split second (I prefer 3 minutes in the oven for a proper rare, after which it should rest on the counter for 5 minutes for the juices to redistribute)—then what you'll end up with is a gorgeously cooked piece of meat that's not mooing on the inside, but rather uniformly pink and soft throughout the center.

The way you carve it is equally important. I actually love to cut mine in half, then again horizontally across against the grain—ensuring the shortest strands of meat possible, and the softest, most melting texture.

It goes without saying that filet mignon is the ideal solo cut: a single nugget of tender beef, perfectly portioned for one. But the real stars of this recipe below, I’ll admit, are the crispy-chewy roasted potatoes (which I've also spent years attempting to master, over and over until I got it just right).

One of the greatest joys of cooking for one is learning to cook at all. The older I get, the more firmly I stand in my belief that the mere act of taking time to feed yourself and prepare a proper meal well—whether it's a 5-minute weeknight affair or a slower, leisurely 18-minute stir, or this meat-and-potatoes dinner—is probably the best way to get better at cooking at all.

Now, before I leave you to your dinner, let’s talk spuds: A medallion cut ensures the greatest surface area, resulting in the crispiest potato—but still thick enough, about half an inch, so you’re not making chips.

Parboiling before roasting (that is, bringing a pot of cold water with the potato coins to a boil, then draining immediately) gets rid of excess starch that would otherwise result in an overly grainy tater, and instead guarantees an interior that’s almost chewy in texture.

Then comes the roasting in the oven for 30 minutes, for which the cooking medium can vary: olive oil for the everyday cook, butter for those who want a richer crunch, and for those devoted in search of lost time and religiosity, duck fat.

For a home cook, there may be nothing as satisfying as perfecting a classic dish, or an old favorite. This is my meat-and-potatoes, steak-frites dinner that I've perfected over the years (at least according to my own tastes and prejudices regarding matters of the beef and spud). In this way, too, it's been a great comfort to me on many a peckish night, knowing that a brief jaunt to the grocery store for a filet mignon and a single russet potato would reward me with immeasurable bounty, after just 30 minutes of light puttering about in the kitchen.

And the teeny-tiny pixie skillet? It was there for me all along, of course.

How do you cook your filet mignon? Let us know in the comments below.