This just in from the kitchen: Ohhhh. The first flip is always a bad flip.
But I have faith. Besides their standalone raison d'etre as a healthy, tasty breakfast food, the pancakes are integral to a larger plan. Apparently we need to go grocery shopping later today to restock the larder with syrup and other staples (the pancake/syrup dialectic is dizzying, and clearly too complex to get into right now), and the pancakes are baksheesh to persuade me to 1) come along, and 2) behave.
Kitchen report: Fruit toppings options are mixed berries or peaches.
Actually, I'd like brown sugar and raisons d'etre on mine.
It's not that bribery is necessary for my participation in errand-running. It's that I immediately go into a fugue state of uselessness and distraction as soon as the flourescent lighting hits my retinas. My psyche becomes a battleground where the spirit of Wild Bill Knowlan makes frenetic, splenetic war with Franz Kafka and Chuck Jones. My Sweet Wife's hope is that somehow the pancakes will keep me grounded. We shall see.
Meanwhile, inspired by MC's beautiful rant about Rachael Ray, that "perky foghorn" of the Food Network (yes, Mary, we too have been stunned into insensibility by her Marshall stacks of foodie rhetoric and her pit-bullish cheeriness), Sweet W is putting on a speculative cooking show of her own. She's in character as cigar-chomping, gravel-voiced Max Lindner: Shallots? Shallots?! What you need, kid, is a martini. Get over here. . . .
Those are some tasty-ass pancakes.
1 comment:
OMG! I just found the Schwillig linked from somewhere else and I find I've been name-checked. I declare myself delighted. Yer HIGH-larious!
ox
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