Pancakes

I love pancakes. Always have. As long as I can remember pancakes have been a breakfast favorite. When I was a child and our family would go out to breakfast, it was already decided before we ever got there. I was getting pancakes.

I still remember one particular breakfast venture. In my hometown of Vista there used to be a store called Mayfair Market. In this market was a little diner. It must have been a pretty cheap place to eat because my parents were sporting six kids to feed. But I didn’t know it was cheap. All I knew was that they served pancakes. My parents had told us that pancakes would be there.

The waitress came around and asked us what we wanted, and my parents always allowed each of us kids to do our own ordering. I ordered hot chocolate, a nice start to the sugarfest, and an order of pancakes.

You could not even begin to imagine the joy that washed over my little soul when the hot chocolate arrived. Heaped high upon the brown steaming goodness was a healthy swirl of whipped cream. Whipped cream is another passion of mine. Give me a bowl of whipped cream and a spoon. What else is needed?

The first thing I did was suck that creamy white joy right off the top. Mmmm. And then it was on to the chocolaty goodness. But it was all still anticipatory to the main event.

The waitress came to our table with plates balanced up and down both arms, with steam rising up from the eight plates (six kids, and two parents) fogging her glasses. And then, one by one, she would expertly place each person’s plate before him or her. It was a balancing act that would rival any circus performance.

And then there was my plate, with a shaft of light streaming down from heaven enlightening my plate. You could almost hear a voice from above saying, “These are My pancakes, My beloved pancakes in which I am well pleased.”

And, glory upon glory, there beside my stack of pancakes, sitting on the side of my plate was a special little scoop of vanilla ice cream. Ice cream with pancakes!!! Oh, the absolute mystery of the creative genius working as a diner chef! I grabbed my spoon and scooped up that tempting scoop of vanilla goodness and brought it to my mouth.

Instantly, my mouth rejected the ice cream and I spit it back out onto my plate. Butter!

“What are you doing?”, my mother asked.

“I thought that was ice cream!”

The experience did not deter my love of pancakes. Even today when my family goes out for breakfast, I still tend towards an order of pancakes. When we stay the weekend in Cannon Beach, Oregon I like to get a visit in to Pig ‘N Pancakes, an Oregon coast breakfast place. They make an awesome pecan pancake with pecan syrup. Glorious every time.

Here in our home Saturdays were pancake days. Nearly every Saturday we’d be up early- this was before the teenagers discovered the joys of sleeping in- and I’d be at the stove making the pancakes. I’d make shapes like airplanes or Mickey Mouse, or a crescent moon, or a star. When the kids came asked for special shapes, I always made the typical round shape of a pancake and then I’d call it a baseball, or a basketball, or a moon, or a plate, or any other thing that was round. It drove them crazy. That’s always fun.

Another trick was to drip a bunch of pancake batter all over the pan and let them cook for a bit. Then I’d pour a regular amount of batter that would engulf the dots. When I flipped the pancake it looked like it had measles or some other pox.

My Dad would do stuff like that. One of his best tricks was to make Pirate Eye pancakes. It was appropriate for him because he had to wear a patch over one eye. I grew up with a pirate for a dad. Anyhow, he would pour a donut shaped pancake, then he’d crack an egg and put it in the center of the pancake. The result was an egg surrounded by a delicious pancake. Pour some syrup on that!

This morning my wife, Jennifer came to me with a smile on her face. “I’m hungry.”

“Are you going to make breakfast?” I asked.

“I want pancakes.”

That’s a dad’s realm.

“Megan,” I called out, “do you want pancakes?”

“No.”

Jennifer puts in her words of encouragement, “What if they are banana pancakes?”

“Oh, yes. I want banana pancakes.”

It was a done deal. Banana pancakes are an all time family favorite. If you add a couple of banana pancakes to the steamy stack of cakes, they will definitely disappear first. Then the longing questions comes as a family member fingers their way through the stack, “Are there any more banana ones left?” Disappointment is always palpable.

I still remember the first time I had banana pancakes. When I was living in Cardiff by the Sea, and doing youth ministry at Calvary Chapel North Coast, there was one student that I got along with especially well. Aaron Stewart. We nicknamed him Q Tip because he had a bush of white blonde hair. Classic California surfer.

I picked him up from his house early one Saturday morning to get a dawn patrol in. Dawn patrol is when you go surfing just as the sun is coming up. The waves are clean and there are no crowds and there is a slight offshore breeze coming off the land. That breeze helps to hold the shape of the wave as it builds before breaking.

We’d park the car by the side of the road and look out at the waves and see where it was best to paddle out. After looking for a bit, we’d grab our towels and wrap them around our waists and then strip ourselves of all of our clothing. Then the wetsuits would be pulled on and up under our towels. Every surfer does it like this. Then we’d hide the car keys under the bumper and head out to the line up. It was a great time of paddling around, sitting in the line up and talking about our dreams, or life, or that last wave we rode. After a few hours it was time to head back to shore.

Back at the car, we’d grab our towels, wrap them around our waists once again, and then strip our wetsuits off. Aaron was a joker. When I was totally naked beneath my towel, Aaron came up behind me and grabbed the towel from by body. The cars streaming by got quite the view that day. I think I still owe him a payback.

We drove back to Q Tip’s house. Munchies are always part of the natural order of such a session- up early, surf, eat. It was time for breakfast. Aaron broke out the Krusteaz pancake batter. There in the kitchen we prepared our breakfast together.

Then Aaron said, “Have you ever had banana pancakes?”

“No.”

“O, dude. They are the best!”

He grabbed a banana and pealed it, poured some batter in a hot pan, and then cut thin discs of bananas that then dropped onto the top of the cooking pancakes. It was a sight to be seen. Never before had I envisioned such a glorious marriage of ingredients. But there it was. A co-mingling of pancake with banana.

After making a small pile for the two of us, Aaron got the butter out, a bottle syrup, and we went to the table to partake.

It is here that the English language fails me. I languish in an effort to describe the wondrous epicurean delight that washed through my very being as I encountered a banana pancake for the first time. All I dared say at the time was, “Dude.” It was amazing.

I am forever indebted to Q Tip. He brought such joy into my life. Not just mine, but to my entire family. Years of banana pancakes have ensued.

Today, I made banana pancakes. Not just a couple to be hidden like little pieces of gold in a stack of many, but a whole pile of nothing but banana pancakes. When I told my son, Matthew that I made pancakes… banana pancakes, he said, “Nice.”

Thank you, Aaron. I love you.