Pancakes

If Wednesday is Prince Spaghetti Day, then Thursday is pancake day.

Last year, I visited my sisters in Illinois and my next door neighbor watched over hubby, who was unable to drive. She ran errands, baked pound cake for him and on Thursdays brought him pancakes from the Village Inn.

Thus was pancake Thursday instituted.  Every Thursday I find myself at the counter getting take-out pancakes for my now-pampered husband. Why don't I just make them?

Obviously, you are not familiar with my cooking. Spaghetti and dropped (soft-boiled) eggs are my two specialties – except for those occasions when I undercook or overcook both.

My grandmother was a cook at the local grade school and could make everything. Ah, the fried chicken, cherry cobbler, and Christmas sugar cookies that I remember. During one diet, I counted up the calories in her Sunday dinner and they exceeded my limit for the week.

My mother was notable for making cakes ... not the fancy kind, but the wonderfully chocolate kind in an oblong baking pan. She would take one every Sunday to go with Gram's dinner.

I remember one Sunday when it was smashed in the center. Getting five girls – my sisters and me – into the car at the same time was a challenge. She had placed the cake pan on the front seat of the car. And then, in a hurry, she had thrown her purse into the car.

You can imagine – direct hit. Luckily, there was a kitchen towel over the cake. Neither purse nor taste of the cake was severely damaged.

One time I learned to make lasagna from scratch. Well, I bought the noodles and sauce – as close to scratch as I get. In my defense, I did assemble it all in the pan!

We had relatives visiting  and the church was having a "hunger dinner" for the youth group. You know the kind, where those who draw the "poor" straw have bread and water; while the "rich" get to eat real food.

I made two pans of lasagna, one for the church and one for us. Hubby dropped off the finished church lasagna while we girls had a glass of wine or two. Then everyone sat down to dinner.

The girls were having a great time chatting and sipping, until we noticed both the guys were loading up on bread and moving the untouched lasagna around on their plates. Yep, last time I would ever make lasagna.

Still don't understand what made it so totally inedible. And those "rich" kids at the church dinner probably wished they had drawn the "poor" straw.

Never did go back to church to claim that baking dish. Not mine!

My hubby always says the best thing I make is "reservations".

I haven't given up all hope. Now that I've retired, was thinking about trying a cooking class. But then, I have my hubby so well-trained, it would be a crime to deprive him of the pleasures of take-out.

He anticipates the weekly spaghetti and pancake nights.

 And pizza ... that's Friday nights.