For reasons I will never understand, my idea of a really good time often includes poking fun at myself. So I am prepared to take all kinds of (kind-hearted) teasing over the following admission:
When I go to pancake breakfasts--which happens several times a year in my small town-ish community--I ask for my pancakes served rare.
No, I am not kidding.
Because I learned, by accident, about 15 years ago, that in fact I did not dislike pancakes as I had always thought. I just disliked them thoroughly cooked. Which is to my taste, dry. (Yes, I use butter and syrup and sometimes even fruit and whipped cream--but still dry to me.) I like my pancakes about cooked about three quarters of the way through, which means, hard on the outside and soft in the middle.
Which is not to say that I get what I want at these pancake breakfasts. Reactions include the server staring at me blankly, laughing, or just pushing an already prepared (dry) stack at me. As well as my husband or one of my kids nudging me to shut up, take it and behave.
At home, however, I am free to make my pancakes as I choose, and no one notices or cares. In fact, it is accepted that I will always make my own. (“I did it my way...”)
Now as far as commenting, no way I’m asking if you like your pancakes served raw in the middle, too. (Although if you happen to know someone else or have heard of someone else, do tell me! It would be nice to know I am not completely alone.)
Instead, feel free to express your BLECH! reaction. And then tell me about your favorite pancakes, be they buttermilk, blueberry, chocolate chip...
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