Pancakes. The perfect weekend treat that comes in many shapes and forms. Who knew that a flour, milk and egg base could lead to such a wonderfully delicious world of fluffy griddle cakes, puffy and eggy pannekoeken, corn cakes or, my favorite, Swedish pancakes. I grew up knowing these as 1-2-3 pancakes, coined by my grandfather, alluding to the simplistic nature of the recipe. They are an eggy, thin, crepe-like pancake that you roll up and serve with any variety of toppings (inside or out).
Yesterday was Christmas Eve eve. It is the night where Chad and I celebrate the holiday together at home with our little family (Charlie the wiener dog and now, Elliot). We sit around our Christmas tree, turn up the heat (we don’t have a fireplace), watch a holiday movie or two, devour a crab feast and sip on Tom and Jerry’s. I love Christmas Eve eve, not only for this tradition, but for the fact that it always feels like the calm before the storm (a very fun, lovely, family filled, exciting, enjoyable, wouldn’t give it up for the world, storm). It is a night where it is just us. Home. Bellies and hearts full. Reflecting on the year. Celebrating the season. Celebrating all that we love.
Bacon. Sweet sweet bacon. No really. Sweet. Literally sweet. Specifically, candied bacon. My family cannot get enough. I mean come on….what is not to love when it comes to this delicious, salty, crispy, savory, buttery, sweet, spicy, gooey goodness. My family started making this treat a few years ago and it seems to grace our table a lot around this time of year. I like food to have meaning. A history. Tradition.
Clanging pans, chopping onions, beeping ovens, slamming drawers, burning eyes, streaming tears, a humming dishwasher; all signs of our 6:00AM Thanksgiving wake-up call growing up. Every Thanksgiving eve my grandmother, who lived with us and was a baker by profession, would argue with my mom, “I won’t make noise.” My mom would counter with “There is no need to wake up at 6:00AM on Thanksgiving to start the stuffing!” Grams would hold her ground, “I like to get it done with. I won’t make any noise. I never do.” Fast forward to Thanksgiving morning, 6:00AM, coffees in hand, bags under our eyes, pre-parade TV on and sweet Grams finishing the stuffing.
I always look forward to that first incredible fall-like day in Minnesota when the temperature barely hits 55; when I see that first amber leaf high atop the maples lining our St. Paul street; when the smells of grilled meat have been replaced by the unmistakable smell of a cozy fire in the fireplace….and I hear my husband begging for a bowl of my chili.