Middle son loves pancakes. He eats them very plain. No butter. No syrup. No honey.
Pilbury quick bread mix and three eggs, and one-third cup of olive oil, and one cup milk and old fashioned oats ground in the coffee grinder, and voila !
I am doing a double batch this morning. Reading the internet between pancake flips. Folding clothes, loading and unloading the washer and dishwasher between pancake flipping.
Stacks of three big pancakes per baggie in the freezer. James can eat pancakes every morning now for a week. But, he is a disciplined man, and will alternate with bowls of cereal.
The iron skillet is hot. The batter thin, but not too thin. Pumpkin pancakes. And Banana-blueberry. Twenty days and my pancake flipping days will be done. Darn. I was just getting good at it. I live dangerously. I listen for the popping sound of the hot condensed water hitting the fry pan sides as the moisture slides off the glass lid. High popping means time to flip.
Maybe I can figure out how to make a batch, and pack them in dry ice....no, James will do just fine learning how to make his own. He will find just the right combination of ingredients he likes.
He will do fine.
But, I will miss him.
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1 comment:
He's run away before. But this time ... it may be for longer than the trip down the block. (He's still not home tonight.)
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