I. love. pancakes.
My mom raised me on uh-may-zing pancakes. Father's day, birthdays, and Christmas always involved those beloved, fluffy heart cloggers.
The only major holiday exceptions were Mother's day (which was reserved for blueberry waffle/mimosa brunches at Grandma's house- hello, first taste of real maple syrup), and Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving, I don't even remember what we ate in the morning. I think I just snuck ginger cookies or something- Mom was too busy prepping everything. Heh, heh, heh...
My mom always cooked everything for family occasions. The funniest part? She loathes cooking. She'd probably rather be sewing something. Or rescuing poodles. Or gouging her eyes out with rubber-tipped baby spoons.
So when I call and ask her for a recipe of any kind, she gets all flustered and is like, "Gawd, Meg! I dunno, I just ... ya know... throw a bunch this and summa that in there, sprinkle it with cinnamon and its zucchini bread. But I'm sanding this friggin' cabinet right now, so can I just call you later?!"
Yes, Mom. Call me later. And elaborate what the #*%$# you just told me to do.
I decoded and experimented with a basic pancake recipe Mom spewed at me in the middle of her experimentation with her brand new serger, and it is even better than my Mom's. Yes, Mumsie. Oh Yes. They're like IHOP and Jesus got together and whipped somethin' up. I will eat gluten and dairy on pancake days. Gotta make sacrifices for the pancakes you love.
