Breakfast.
One of the three best meals of the day.
And especially when one stumbled from
bed into the kitchen and realized that Mom had the griddle out.
Mmmm. Pancakes.
The best of the best.
Mom's pancakes were famous.
Well in our world.
Light and fluffy and oh, so eat-able.
And when one started eating, one simply
couldn't stop.
My record?
Twelve.
Dripping with butter and syrup.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmm.
When I started dating my Husby, I
couldn't wait for him to taste my Mom's pancakes.
Fortunately for him, and his status as
boyfriend without sleep-over benefits, there were times when she made
them later in the day.
What is even better than breakfast for
breakfast?
Breakfast for supper.
My Husby-to-be agreed that Mom's
pancakes were truly remarkable.
So much so that he asked her for her
recipe.
Now, you have to realize that, by this
time, Mom had been making these same pancakes for nearly forty-five
years.
She could do them in her sleep.
An important skill first thing in the
morning.
But I digress . . .
“Hmm,” she said, frowning
thoughtfully. “Sure I can give you the recipe.”
She then proceeded to list ingredients
and amounts.
As she had been adding them for
decades.
“A couple of scoops of flour. Eggs.
Sugar. This much salt.” She held up finger and thumb pinched
together. “A couple of cake spoons of baking powder. Milk to make
it batter-y.”
My Husby-to-be was frantically
scribbling, a slight frown between his brows. When he was done, he
stared at what he had written. “Ummm . . . okay,” he said
doubtfully.
And he went home and tried them.
Adjusted ingredients and tried again.
And again.
For over 36 years, he has been
struggling to get it right.
He never has.
And Mom took the original recipe with
her when she passed on.
Sigh.
I love pancakes.
I miss my Mom.
P.S. I'd give you the recipe, but it's
a work in progress. I'll let you know . . .
