Evil pancake people
This isn't the first time it's happened. Bad pancakes. From a mix. Sabotaged by the evil pancake people.
They have an M.O. They use little charts on the back of the their packages. The packages printed with homey scenes and pictures of delicious-looking pancakes and Anglo-Saxon tow-headed families seated around a breakfast nook with pitchers of orange juice and carafes of black coffee.
The evil pancake people. They promise so much and deliver so little.
This morning, pancakes. For me and my loved one. Coffee brewed okay. Orange juice mixed up okay. Music in the background played okay.
Not the pancakes. Evil pancake people. Sabotaging my Saturday mornings.
They say mix three eggs and six tablespoons of melted butter and two and one-third cups of milk with two-thirds of a package of their mix.
I've done this before. It's the same M.O. every time. Too much liquid. What are they thinking? Why are they out to hurt me so?
I mix the batter just like they say. I keep waiting for the tow-headed children to come down the stairs and the sun to pour glorious light onto our nook. Only I am childless and it's overcast today. Evil pancake people!
The batter drips from the spoon like snot. I've seen thicker gruel. What are they thinking?
The first one sizzles on the skillet and comes out like a crepe. A buckwheat crepe burned on both sides.
I hurry. I improvise. My loved one's stomach demands pancakes and I've come too far to offer toast and jam.
I dump in the rest of the mix and stir. Too thick! Like grainy wholesome mud! I splash in more milk to thin it out, and then some more, and then some more, always worried I'll thin it too much and have no more dry mix to thicken it again.
I stir and pray and think my Saturday's been ruined by the you-know-whos.
It's not so.
The pancakes come out okay, just a tad too grainy and thick. Tasteless, too. I had cinnamon and she loves them. We eat until our stomachs are plump with cakey dough.
Well, she had one complaint. We had no syrup.
Evil pancake people!
