Gothic Granola

Pancakes, in general, are my culinary nemesis.

"What really happens to you if you eat gluten, though?" Women's Health Magazine has this most enlightening article for all the new faux paus committed around the GF-ers. Actually, saying these things to anyone who has allergies ("I tried soy nut butter once and it was disgusting!" to a peanut allergic person) is rude. Not to be all high and mighty, but a little education goes a long way towards creating a better dining (and  kissing ) situation. That being said, eating gluten-free and eating more whole foods (the two generally go together) involves a palate adjustment, visually and physically. TC rightly called me out on using being GF as an excuse to eat even weirder foods. Green juice and overnight oatmeal, anyone?

Flatbread,  pancakes ,  Welsh cakes --griddled breads give me problems. I either burn or undercook them. There is no middle ground. There is, however, old poetry from 2010.

The sky goddess has her days, too. You know those days, when nothing seems to work the way you’d like?

Though it is now full-blown Lent, I’m sharing my Mardi Gras luncheon because there’s nothing about it that’s sinful or off-limits in the fasting and abstinence sense, as far as I know. I can and will go on at length about how food is not “sinful” and should not cause guilt. Food is neutral. We bring the guilt as a side dish or a sauce. We also have the ability not to partake, but instead to enjoy our treats or what-have-ye mindfully and in appropriate-to-ourselves amounts.

These pancakes (now miniature waffles!) have been hits both times I’ve served them, Mother’s Day and fellowship after church.   Assemble the batter the night before the morning you plan to make them.   Alternatively, have pancakes for dinner and make the batter in the morning, then cook at night.   I bought the mini waffle pan as a reward/bribe for myself for surviving routine bloodwork.

Pancakes!  I have a well-formed recipe.  Been reading Whitman, hence the "well-(past participle)".

I have a few lists and piles: there’s a pile of scrap paper with topics and scribbles about poems that I want to write, subjects upon which I want to discourse, discuss, disgust, disguise.  To the cover of my notebook, I binder-clipped a list of places I’d like to visit, activities I’d like to do, and objects I’d like to own.  I also carry a list of food projects I’d like to attempt.  By attempt, I mean throw caution to the wall, throttle it until it turns blue, and release it in disgust that I ever had any truck with it, and just do whatever I was about to do. Squirrel in my parents' backyard from 2011