That was it. That was the first meal I made in the new apartment. It took me a while to get back to the inter net, so some of the details are fading... I think it was a Friday night. Two weeks ago? Hard to say.
I camped out at the new place. On the floor, in an empty room, with a small CVS 'Emerson' boom box playing a friend's 18 yr old birthday mix tape and entirely exhausted. Come morning I woke up confused and unsure of where I was, how I got there, etc. Not that this is entirely new to me, but I said I was exhausted, not drunk. More often than not I end up reaching my room before passing out from sheer exhaustion. But, I've been burning the wick at both ends and I could only get together enough energy to climb the stairs to my apartment with an exploratory air before making a nest of blankets and a pillow, rewinding the tape, and pressing play before falling fast asleep.
By the time I reached the kitchen the next morning I'd put together some things:
The window in my bedroom is humongous and in this season it is covered by an as of yet unidentified tree. The leaves shield me from the street, or so I think. All of the windows except for one in the bathroom are similar (in a mathematical sense). That's to say, they are all split into two equal parts (two equal rectangles taller than they are wide made from the whole window frame which is wider than it is tall); the first fixed, with the other sliding over the first to open. When this big window is opened it can create a wind tunnel effect. Standing in the kitchen felt like standing on a beach, because even at 11 am the air here was hot and it was, poised on linoleum in my underwear, downright balmy.
The floors in my place slope a bit. If you try to sleep 'with the grain' sorta speak you'll end up with a head full of snot that takes hours of coffee and physical labor to clear. This lesson, unfortunately, took me two weeks to learn.
I arrived for the first night at my apartment with some essentials. Mainly I planned to cook breakfast. I thought that would be the real coup d'etat. However I lacked other essentials. For instance, I neglected to bring a mixing bowl for the pancakes. There was nothing to crack the egg into in order to beat it before making the rest of the batter. I did not anticipate all of the pieces until I was confronted with ingredients. Granted, I was sorely disappointed with myself. I was also determined.
I had a frying pan. Two nalgenes (no glasses). Forks. Knives. Milk. Bisquick. Eggs. Fresh Strawberries. 3 Plates. Log Cabin Syrup and Orange Juice to wash it down. Now I understand that this is not a Joy of Cooking original. It's a Bisquick special, and it raised us so I'm throwing it up here.
Before I reached third grade our mom was still holding back from teaching in order to keep our house in order, errand for five people, balance an absorbent amount of friends' birthday parties , a thousand other things and cooking my brother, sister and me breakfast. Non-sweetened cereals were, of course, a fall back. Peter and I would line up our boxes of cereal (who the fuck would have just Cherrios when he could mix Cherrios, Chex and Kix?) to read the box backs while slurping spoonfuls of sugar we threw in from the bottom of the milk. I cannot honestly remember Becky every eating cereal. Perhaps she was discreet, or disgusted with us and stayed in her room, but there's a good chance she had to get on the bus before we even woke up.
Now, though, occasionally my mother made French Toast. It baffled me, and to this day it still kind of does. The best parts were soft enough to soak up all the butter and syrup but wouldn't still taste (or, more importantly, feel) like raw egg. Peter and I would, again, of course, cut our toast up into squares all at once and devour the incredible edible fat/sugar concoctions in lightening speed. For most of this time of my life I remember being disgusted with orange juice while Peter would never touch milk. Recently, I believe, he and I are both a bit more moderate. Him a tad heavier on OJ and me on whole milk.
Most morning, however, between cereal and F. toast, and especially during summer vacation we got pancakes. Consistent pancakes. Golden brown. Just round, or, made into Mickey Mice. Sometimes, maybe when she finally caught four hours of sleep, they were our intials:
RK*D, PMD, TJD
This was a huge hit on sleepovers (of course, she would insert our friend's initials for dramatic effect). Always thin enough to take up a whole stick of butter and somehow (I still don't get this) served as a pile of cakes. All at once. It was not until I was much older that I realized not all kids were so lucky.
Our dad was a bit more of a one trick wonder for years. On special Saturday mornings he would come into the TV room (where we were sucking up television at a sickening pace) to criticize The Smurfs for being old and offer waffles. Waffles from our dad were incredible edibles on there own right. They'll be addressed at some later post... but his pancakes, which only surfaced during his retirement were another thing altogether. Pops took Bisquick on its word and made the shortened 'thick' recipe. He makes literal cakes for his morning meal. I'm talking too thick to get filled with butter or syrup. The crazy dude also uses pure maple syrup exclusively, which does not compliment salted butter in the same way as LC. When he mixes his bisquick batter into the eggs and then with milk he is always careful not to mix the final clumps of flour, baking powder and salt. 'That's what makes it a cake,' he's told me.
Now, Becky and I spent nearly three months... or at least two... making a batch of pancakes every morning. We figured out the best pancakes. You take the Bisquick thin pancakes recipe and you add to that the milk from the thick pancake recipe.... Wha---bam! The best fucking pancakes you'll ever eat. Just add butter. Or just add syrup and butter. Or, just strawberries. Chocolate chips are a huge mistake. Please, everyone, do this now:
Mix the recipe as stated above. Mix out all possible flour bubbles. Shake or stir with vigor. You'll end up with perfectly flat cakes. Get a hot grill going and they'll all be the same texture (smooth on one side crisp and holely on the other). Pour each to the size of a sand dollar. Repeat.
