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(Pre-Script: This post goes best with a side of 100% pure maple syrup and as the song, "Uncharted," #27 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...)
(...still waiting...)
(...still waiting...)So I don't know about you, but I just spent about an hour and a half inventing a new recipe. I was craving pancakes. I almost just said, 'I was craving 'a pancake,' but that would have been misleading; I don't believe in eating only one pancake/cookie/cupcake/ or other such smallish thing of delicious proportions...I think that to eat just one is a form of torture heretofore not developed by warring countries against their prisoners. It is much easier to eat none than just one. I don't believe in portion control. I think that if you are going to indulge in the good stuff, go big, go large, go huger than gigantic. The only other option is abstinence; there is no sane in between place. Trust me.
My friend Vicki and I used to create these elaborate feasts for each other when we were hungry. We would scour the fridge and cupboards and come up with a smorgasbord of whatever looked delicious. Often, it involved Pillsbury Grand biscuits that we would dip in ranch dressing with a side of sugar wafers-the pink, white, and chocolate variety pack-which we would eat while watching some made for TV movie that her mom had recorded the week before. Often, if would involved finishing whatever variety of cookies were in the house. Man your posts, Oreos. Try to hold up a fight against us and our glasses of milk, chips ahoy!. We decided that it was most conciderate of us to eat all of the cookies instead of leaving just one behind for her sister. We discussed heartily and agreed that for her sister, or anyone else, to come home to a house that contained only one cookie would have been cruel, so we did not leave a single cookie behind. It was a mercy killing; it was the least we could do. Sisterly love has no limits.* I would like to point out here that yes, we were sober during these smorgasbord-athons, unless you consider the Ritalin that I was taking in doctor prescribed large quantities that made me ravenous every 3 hours, yet still caused me to lose about 20 lbs. And Vic was just thin because she was the kind of young toned thing that we all love to hate. And also, this was just about the time when Vic and I took up running as a sport, because we had heard that running was "good for us." I'm the only one of us who stuck to it, and I now run enough miles every week for both of us. But she has asthma as an excuse, having been born almost 3 months premature, so it is only natural and right that I would be the one to keep up with the running. But I digress.
Ahem.
So there I was, craving a bushel full of pancakes this afternoon, but not willing to invest in the carbohydrates. The only plausible solution I could come up with was to make up my own recipe, and so I did; in roughly 17 seconds, (but I wasn't actually timing it) I had come up with a no carb recipe involving quinoa and crushed flax seeds which was already causing my salivatory glands to work overtime, and I was already serving them up at a cute-ish, small-ish pancake and smoothie cafe that also plays live music various nights of the week in the quaint comfortable room in the back where the customers sit on mismatched easy chairs and plush couches with colorful throw pillows that sometimes get tossed around if the Friday night music is particularly rousing and the crowd is particularly randy. And then I went home and created my dream concoction.
It was delicious, and at the same time, not so much. In fact, it kind of sucked. I loved it, anyway. In my mind, I am already tweaking what needs to be tweaked to make the next batch better than this one. Like for instance, actually measuring the ingredients might sometimes come in handy. So much of life is about the pursuit of creating the perfect pancake. The thing is, you can never get it perfect all the way. I enjoyed the mother load of pancakes that I ate today because I had taken the time to make them myself, and because of the satisfaction that comes with that. And also because in the end, they weren't half bad; in fact, they were pretty darn tasty. I would toast to that, if my fingers weren't so maple syrup sticky.
-XOXO,
Ahem.
So there I was, craving a bushel full of pancakes this afternoon, but not willing to invest in the carbohydrates. The only plausible solution I could come up with was to make up my own recipe, and so I did; in roughly 17 seconds, (but I wasn't actually timing it) I had come up with a no carb recipe involving quinoa and crushed flax seeds which was already causing my salivatory glands to work overtime, and I was already serving them up at a cute-ish, small-ish pancake and smoothie cafe that also plays live music various nights of the week in the quaint comfortable room in the back where the customers sit on mismatched easy chairs and plush couches with colorful throw pillows that sometimes get tossed around if the Friday night music is particularly rousing and the crowd is particularly randy. And then I went home and created my dream concoction.
It was delicious, and at the same time, not so much. In fact, it kind of sucked. I loved it, anyway. In my mind, I am already tweaking what needs to be tweaked to make the next batch better than this one. Like for instance, actually measuring the ingredients might sometimes come in handy. So much of life is about the pursuit of creating the perfect pancake. The thing is, you can never get it perfect all the way. I enjoyed the mother load of pancakes that I ate today because I had taken the time to make them myself, and because of the satisfaction that comes with that. And also because in the end, they weren't half bad; in fact, they were pretty darn tasty. I would toast to that, if my fingers weren't so maple syrup sticky.
-XOXO,
*Except for when it does.
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