Years ago, my sisters and I took Dad to see the New England fall foliage, something he had always wanted to do. Dad did great on the trip, even though he was 90 years old at the time. During the 10-day adventure, we stayed at several delightful bed & breakfast venues, but our hands-down favorite was with a couple in Southern New Hampshire.
In addition to their B&B enterprise, they also had numerous groves of maple trees and produced their own maple syrup. Dad was intrigued by our hosts’ explanation of “sugaring” – they stayed up late that night discussing the arduous process. Impressed by their knowledge and dedication to the laborious task, Dad commented, “You must really love it.”
The man shook his head and in splendid New England fashion said, “Nope – got to be a little crazy to do it.” Dad said, “Same with cattle!” We all had a good laugh. After that visit, I had a whole new appreciation for my breakfast love – maple syrup.
Recently I welcomed a new grandbaby – Hilda Mae, a 7.6-pound girl named after my mom who passed away this past November. She arrived during the worst winter blast we’d had in three years. She came home from the hospital on ice- and snow-covered highways, making her first road trip a memorable one.
So her mom and dad could be together to welcome their new one, I kept her siblings Athena, 7, and Raylan, 4, over the weekend. It was an exciting time for them, but also an anxious one as they awaited news of their little sister. I tried to make it fun – we played games, did puzzles, drank hot cocoa in front of the fire, read books and admired the photos their parents sent to my phone.
I knew it would be hectic on Sunday morning trying to get all of us ready for Sunday school, so I bought a commercial pancake mix to save time instead of making it from scratch like I usually do. That morning I whipped up the easy batter and quickly made a tower of pancakes, even making a smiley face for Raylan. I presented his pancake and he accepted it eagerly, plucking the “eyes” off and popping them into his mouth. The smile immediately disappeared and he got a faraway look as he thoughtfully chewed.
I asked him if he wanted me to cut up the “smile” since it was pretty big. He nodded. When I finished, he solemnly speared part of the pancake with his fork. After staring at it for a few seconds, he put it into his mouth. He gave it a couple of chews and without changing his expression, he declared in his four-year-old wisdom, “Dees are de worst pancakes.”
I tried not to laugh. I told him he didn’t have to eat any more if he didn’t want to. He promptly put his fork down, hopped off the chair and went to play with his trains. I sat there a minute replaying the episode in my mind. When I started laughing … I laughed until I cried.
Before we left for church, I ate one and he was right. “Dey were de worst.” My chickens were the only winners that morning. Lesson learned. Some shortcuts are just not worth it.
The recipe below is the one I used when my own kids were growing up. Dad used it when we were kids. It is still my favorite. Always have some real maple syrup on hand to go with them – nothing else is quite as good.
Dad’s Sunday Morning Pancakes
Sometimes Dad used “store-bought” mix, as he called it, but for a real treat, he made these from scratch.
1 cup flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
Dash of salt
2 eggs
1 cup buttermilk
2 tablespoons melted butter
Stir dry ingredients together. Add eggs, buttermilk and butter. Stir until well mixed but don’t overmix. Batter will be slightly lumpy. Let rest a couple of minutes before cooking on hot greased griddle.
Pancakes will be ready to flip when most of the “bubbles” have popped.
by Tamra M. Bolton
