Breakfast Orders...

"How about Pancake House?"

"Becky doesn't like pancakes."

"That's fine, I can always find something else. Even at pancake restaurants they always have other options."

"Wait, you don't like pancakes? Who doesn't like pancakes?"

"Becky doesn't. Keep up."

"Ha. Ha. Got it. But why? I mean, everyone likes pancakes."

"My mother used to make pancakes for every special occasion. Easter Sunday. Birthday breakfasts. All of them."

"Oh that's sweet."

"Sure, except for the fact that my mother was a terrible cook. And the worst kind of terrible cook. The kind that believes they are good at it. And pancakes are actually harder than you'd think to get right."

"That's true. I always burn the first one."

"Right. If the pan is too hot they burn on the outside and never get done on the inside. If it's too cold they take forever to cook and end up getting kind of tough and gummy. There is a trick to a pancake. My mother never learned the trick."

"Ah."

"And so we always had a plate of burnt and yet raw at the same time pancakes to eat. And my father, who adored my mother, would tell her how great they were and how much we all loved that she cooked them for us and to promise to always make them."

"Oh no. So you had to eat them."

"Slathered in as much margarin and fake maple syrup as possible. Just a pool of burnt, raw, pancake like objects floating in fake fat and fake syrup. For every single special occasion ever."

"I'm starting to see why you don't like them. Or at least why you think you don't like them. But have you tried getting them in a restaurant that knows how to cook them?"

"When I went skiing with Peter after college we went to a place that was famous for its pancakes. Everyone talked about how incredible they were. Fluffy almost cake like pancakes. Served with sweet Irish butter and real grade A maple syrup. They brought them out to the table, all sorts of versions, Peter got blueberry, his brother got strawberry and cream, his father got bacon maple, I mean just whatever you could imagine being done to a pancake this place would do it. And people waited for hours to get in and get a table. I ordered just plain pancakes. Buttered them, poured some syrup on and..."

Everyone waited to hear what was wrong with them. 

"...they were perfect. Fluffy, light, almost crisp on the outside but not in an over done sort of way. A hint of vanilla flavor as well. Almost like birthday cake, but not quite. The butter and syrup combined into a rich and balanced sweetness without being cloying. I'm sure you couldn't have asked for a more perfect pancake."

"Okay, wait, again, what? It doesn't sound like you didn't like them. You just said they were perfect?"

"Yep. Perfect. And I hated every bite. I've tried them in other places as well. Always the same story, nobody makes them like my mother did."