looking through me

Saturday mornings were Dad’s.

He was the master pancake maker. He varied the recipe over the years, but it had little to do with taste and everything to do with presentation.

Dad was an artist trapped in a businessman’s body. But on Saturday mornings it was all about the art. Pancake batter was his paint. Whatever we dreamed up he poured out in batter . . . backwards. Then he flipped it to perfection and plated it.

Having a friend spend the night on a Friday night was the best. He would start with her name. Printed or in cursive. And then he would move on to more elaborate designs.

Cartoons may have been playing in the family room, but the show was in the kitchen.

This post is part of the 31 Days: Family series. Read the beginning, and see a full index of posts, here.