Pancakes and Waffles

 I'm not sure how old I was when I first went to spend a couple of weeks with my grandparents. Not very old, maybe 5 or 6. The first week was spent with Grandma Ash and the second week with Grandma Mohr. (Notice that I haven't mentioned either Grandpa because they were here, there, and busy most days and I spent most of my time hanging out with the Grandmas.) 

My Grandma Ash made the best pancakes. No Aunt Jemima mix for her. She made them from Robin Hood flour, eggs and whatever else you needed to make a perfect pancake. They were amazing! A beautiful golden color, piping hot and topped with plenty of butter and lots of maple syrup. My breakfast of choice. I had them every day I was there. 

And then I was delivered to Grandma Mohr. My first morning there she asked what I'd like for breakfast. I said I'd like a pancake. I sat down at the table and waited while she prepared my breakfast. The plate was placed before me and I'm sure I just looked at it for a bit. The pancake was not a beautiful golden color. It was mostly white with a few brown streaks in it. The syrup wasn't honey-colored either, it was clear. This was the most anemic looking pancake I'd ever seen and I didn't even know what anemic meant. It looked nothing like the pancakes I'd grown to love the week before. Not only did it not look right, it didn't taste right, either. I had no idea what she made it with. It wouldn't have mattered if I did. At that tender age, I assumed all pancakes were made the same way and I knew it wasn't "right". And that was when I announced to my Grandma Mohr that I wanted a pancake like my Grandma Ash made. 

I don't really remember what happened after that. I probably stopped asking Granny Mohr for pancakes. And that is undoubtedly why I was not named in her will. 

My own grandchildren were fairly easy when it came to breakfast. When they were 4 or 5 they mostly wanted toaster waffles. Without butter and without syrup. Dry. But okay, it's easy and it doesn't make much of a mess. But shortly after they'd moved from Texas to Oklahoma, they came back to Texas for a visit and while I was toasting their waffles, they announced that they no longer liked Texas waffles; they only liked Oklahoma waffles. 

Indeed. I explained to them that a Leggo waffle is the same no matter what state you buy it in. I'm not sure they believed me but these are the same kids who didn't like the fresh orange juice I made in my Breville juicer because it "tasted like oranges". It seemed they preferred Sunny Delite, but I could never bring myself to buy that. My best compromise was Tropicana.