Baby Dutch Pancakes Baby

I love starting the weekend by making pancakes. However, I get a bit tired of standing around for more than an hour tending them, only to get to the table and be already full because I have resorted to eating some before I serve them.

My son recently requested Dutch Baby Pancakes because Elmo suggested them somewhere along the line. "I always thought they would be delicious." I prefer to call them Baby Dutch, not sure why.

I had never heard of a Baby Dutch Pancake and I was about to behold the magic of The Baby Dutch Pancake (singular).

First off, you blend it up in the blender, taking care of any excess labour you may have wasted on this chore before. Second, you pour it into a heated up frying pan and let it cook for 20 minutes. Near the end, when the edges come away from the pan, you flip it.

The bonus of this masterpiece is that it has a lot of eggs in it, so it is a) more filling b) you are able to rip the top off of it in case it burns. Is there nothing this pancake cannot do? 1 pancake can feed 2 kids and an adult handily.

I am in love with learning new ways of doing things, especially when they are whispered to me via a Muppet conduit. Elmo, feel free to make more suggestions or, you know,any other Muppet that has something to help ease the burden and keep things straight forward as beach season nears.

Blend up:
3 tbsp of butter
3 eggs
3/4 cups of whole milk
1/2 cup flour
1/4 tsp of salt
1/2 tsp of vanilla
1/4 cup of sugar

Cook for 20 minutes on the stove top or in a 425 degree oven.

Top with lemon juice and sugar.

Comments

Keep telling yourself that.

We talk to ourselves everyday, all day (and night) for the whole of our lives. We started talking to ourselves before we knew we were a self, we forget what we said because we forget everything from before...when we were too young and busy developing our brain to remember those early years. There is still lingering residue of long forgotten conversations I have had with myself as a toddler sitting around in the crevices...sloughing off occasionally into words I tell myself still. We talk non-stop, and not just with dialogue. Our goosebumps communicate to us, our tingly feelings, our neurons, our peripheal vision. They are all submitting data into our self and expecting us to react, respond or all to often, expecting what they are sending us will be ignored. After all that talking, you'd think we'd know what we think about most things, but occasionally we are stumped. Unless we stop what we are doing and really concentrate sometimes that voice(s) ...

the words fell out

Despite being an introvert, I do often process big life events (and many many small ones) out loud by verbally hashing out my thoughts with whoever will put up with me. But this morning when I woke up to the big red blotch on the U.S. map...all my /the words fell out. They fell out unsaid, unformed. Got to work and probably , in another time, would have annoyed my co-workers, dominating the conversation with my verbal extrusions, but not today. I just mutely stared across at them and nodded. My dad came for lunch. Normally, we relish a good political diatribe, especially when we feel sure of our perspective, but this time, all I could do was munch on fries and marvel at all the unarticulated thoughts that I was not even bothering to retrieve. The silence inside me was noticeable. Social media was awash with reactions and I just looked away. I couldn't bear to read one word about it. I was not receptive to any reactions, accusations, reflections, words...

I entered August without you.

I won't visit you this month. You won't call. I will raid your garden and you won't get any of the vegetables. I will make plans without telling you about them. We'll go to the store and not buy you one single thing. Whole books will be read and I will not tell you which ones. I will watch movies and not inform you. The nasturiums will ripen. Last month was different. I changed my schedule and took time off work to be with you. I dropped all kinds of plans for us to be together. You sent me messages, I received them. I picked up food that I thought you would like at the store and sent you pictures of every beautiful thing I saw. I sang with you. We watched the Great Canadian Baking Show. You chose the recipe for the garlic scape pesto and gave me instructions for making the gooseberry jam. I am in August without you. You are in July.

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