And that’s particularly unfair since she’s a girl. She’s hogging the sofa, monopolizing the television and demanding frequent infusions of soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. And even though she sent me to the grocery store for pudding, which required me to face the crowds of blizzard-sympathy shopping snowbirds, she has now requested that I make flan, a somewhat labor-intensive dessert. I have a fabulous recipe from an elderly Cuban lady who was a former neighbor’s grandma.
Speaking of recipes, a while back, I shared my crazy old great-grandma’s pound cake recipe. There’s another recipe from a now-deceased person that I really wish I could get my hands on, and I’ve tried, but to no avail. It was a pancake recipe.
The man who used to make these pancakes was the father of an ex-boyfriend, and he (the father) was one of the most hateful old coots I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter. He was a verbally abusive husband and a terrifying tyrant of a father. He was also a sexist prick who would rattle the ice cubes in his empty tea glass at his wife to request a refill rather than asking politely or getting off his lazy ass and fetching his own tea.
The only thing he ever cooked were pancakes, and maybe part of their appeal was the very unlikelihood of their existence, from such an odious source. Since he was an unpleasant bastard, Mr. Fucknuckle naturally had the kitchen to himself while assembling a batch, so I have no idea how he made them.
I did praise them effusively one time and ask how he made them, but all he would say was that apple cider vinegar was the secret ingredient. I don’t believe he was telling the whole truth, but they were sweeter than average and perfectly light and fluffy. I don’t think he put anything gross in them — not because he would have hesitated to poison anyone else but because he always ate most of them himself.
Anyhoo, if you happen to have an exceptionally good pancake recipe, feel free to share in comments. I’ve tried dozens and can never make a batch that comes near the flapjacks produced by that nasty old fart.
Also, if any of y’all in the blizzard zone want to share photos and tales, feel free to email me using the contact drop-down menu at right, and I’ll share them at the next opportunity. Open thread!
Here’s a photo from faithful commenter Steeplejack’s Threadkill Lane location in Falls Church, Virginia:
Stay warm, Steep!