I am awake in my bed. I am blind because without my glasses the whole world is a blur. There is an echo of smoke that permeates everything in this house, the Hudson Bay blanket, the heavy sheets, the special pillowcase that my grandmother puts on my pillow with a Victorian lady with a large crocheted skirt. I can hear my mother and my grandfather talking, cups clicking on the table, a zippo lighter striking and catching, chrome chair legs pushing against the linoleum. I know that Jesus is on the other end of the room watching me with a palm leaf across the top of his portrait. After a while I hear cupboards opening and closing and then this distinctive sound of a metal ring slapping rhythmically against the side of a metal bowl and a spoon whipping the batter inside the bowl. I leap out of bed and make it in record time, carefully folding the green bedspread so that it will stay tucked under the pillow.
I burst into the kitchen and take my seat at the table. How many pancakes? 3 please.
It is 35 years later. I am home alone for dinner again, and these days I don’t cook too much, it is kind of sad and pathetic to cook for one. I always have too many leftovers, I cannot seem to reduce my recipes. It makes me feel alone to eat and have all that food left sitting in the pan. I have fresh blueberries in the fridge and I look down at the dog’s happy smiling dog face, his jiggling butt wagging with his tail. You want a pancake? A HOT blueberry pancake. He barks excitedly. Of course he does.
I take out my metal bowl and metal spoon and whip the batter til it gets that stick together look that says the gluten in the floor has been activated. I turn the fire onto medium under my cast iron pan, grease it with a little olive oil from a pumping spray bottle, I wait for it to get hot and then spoon one two three pancakes and then throw about 10 blueberries into each. I wait for it to bubble a little and get dry around the edges and flip. I take each out of the pan and then take the leftover batter and make one big pancake, putting a small handful of blueberries. Flip. I take it out and put in the dog’s dish. He stands over it. It’s hot. I say. He barks at it. Barks, then tries it. After a moment he tears into it. I melt butter onto my three pancakes and then I put alot of brown sugar on each. I almost never use maple syrup. I like maple syrup on popovers, but not on pancakes. I take my little dinner to the family room and watch TV. I savor each bite.
about two cups of buttermilk *(I think – maybe a little less than two cups)
a tsp of baking powder
a dash of salt
about one and a third cup of flour* (I think)
*(I am guessing on the buttermilk and flour amounts, I never measure. You want the batter to be thick without being lumpy and thin with out being too thin you can add a little more of either to adjust and it wont hurt the batter)
whip til the gluten starts to stick together, cook in a frying pan or on a griddle. Add fresh or frozen berries, frozen berries require the heat to be lower so that the outsides don’t burn before the insides are done.