Most weekends Gene and I will hang around the house basically doing nothing. Often I will wake first and start serenading my husband with “Sleepy Bear” songs until he begins to stir. If I cannot rouse him with my charming melodies, I will resort to the fail safe method for waking a beast—I ask political questions. Something as innocuous as, “Honey? Do you think Palin has a shot in 2012?” will begin a twenty minute rant, which by the time Gene takes a breath, has rendered him completely awake. And so begins Sunday morning.
One of my three favorite meals is breakfast, and my favorite items to cook for breakfast are French Toast or Pancakes (with some sort of salty meat product). These are my specialties, and I admit the secret to success is large amounts of cooking oil. I know, I know—the image of a pool of blended oil on a skillet is utterly distasteful. And yet the end result is phenomenal: French toast is marbled with a beautiful caramel and cream color and pancakes have a crispy edge with a moist, cakey middle. This gorgeousness is particularly dependent on a generous amount of oil crackling over medium-high heat.
The second most important key to creating incredible French Toast is thick cut bread; I like to use leftover Challah from Shabbos dinner on Friday. Similarly, the most important ingredient for pancakes is preparing a batter with the proper consistency. I use the Kroger brand Buttermilk mix, experimenting with varying amounts of water until the mixture is the same thickness of goopy shampoo.
Every once in awhile I will do Blueberry Pancakes as a special treat. The technique is something I picked up from my Aunt Denise many years ago. It happened to be Spring Break and a few of us Mercurio women were bunking at Grama’s place in St. Petersburg, Florida. I was told to use slightly overripe blueberries, and to drop berries quickly into the batter once it’s poured and begins to bubble. I remember thinking that her Blueberry Pancakes were the best I ever had and that I would always adhere to her rules.
