It starts off innocently.
The clock radio begins with some light jazz music set at a low level of volume. It starts to murmur at us about death and
destruction across the world, relating details about the latest meltdown of the latest political hypocrite, or regaling us with
quiet news about the gains or losses in investments that people with real incomes apparently consider vital news.
The words and music barely register.
Then, from down the hall, the alarm clock of the youngest child explodes with a loud rhythmic beeping designed to not only
wake up any living animal within a 5-mile radius, but to induce incontinence upon their rudely awakened bodies at the same
time.
I snuggle closer to Mrs. Chef in a vain attempt to pretend my life isn't about to continue on its pell-mell course through
another day of chaos.
The youngest springs out of his bed and manages to stomp rapidly down the stairs like a SWAT Team in full assault gear.
He calls to the pets by name, herding the dogs and cats outside, in a loud cheerful voice that makes me forget there is a
blood connection between us. There is a short pause, and then the television blares across the house in all of its screaming
cartoon glory.
Then the oldest crawls out of bed and stands at the doorway to Mama and Papa Chef’s bedroom.
I look balefully over the edge of the covers as he nervously shifts from one foot to the other before announcing, “Uh,
Mom, Papa, I forgot to tell you, but I need to make a diorama of the Invasion of Normandy for history class this morning.
Do we have any tape?”
Some people live in the fast lane, while others seem to end up in the slow lane. But me, I seem to be standing in on-
coming traffic.
There was a commercial for a breakfast cereal a few years back that would say something about how the first meal is the
most important meal of the day. Well, I figure if breakfast is so darned important, then Whoever's-In-Charge-Up-There
should have given us hairless apes a little more time to prepare it.
Remember the old black-and-white film where this guy had built a bicycle with wings, and he’s pedaling and flapping it like
crazy before he speeds off a cliff? He seems to think that if he can just go faster, pedal harder, and flap like a lunatic, then
he’ll soon be soaring through the sky.
I’m that guy.
The rest of the morning isn't any better as the oldest stumbles down the steps like somebody had just pushed an
unconscious mule down a well, before he promptly disappears into the bathroom.
Soon the rest of the family is pounding on the privy door and threatening to take care of our urgent biological problems in
the corner of his bedroom if he doesn't bloody well open up.
The adults in our house rarely eat a federally recognized breakfast. In general, we gulp a few cups of coffee and
supplement our caffeine with a handful of almonds and a few slices of whatever fruit we have hanging around the house.
And then it is off to the rest of the day, with Mrs. Chef bustling (really, what does bustle mean? It seems like maybe only
humans can bustle. Has anyone ever seen a cat bustle across the room? Do we ever say, “Golly, those howler monkeys
on the Discovery Channel sure spend a lot of time bustling in the jungle?”) Anyway, Mrs. Chef is scrambling to get the kids
dressed, organized and waiting at the door before the bus arrives. When the big yellow monster does pull in front of the
house, our chaotic morning forces the bus driver to wait while we spend a few seconds taping a toy soldier inside a
shoebox.
That’s our typical weekday morning.
The weekends are completely different. With those, we have a chance to relax and actually sit down to have a breakfast
together. Wait, I take that back. That means everyone but me has a chance to sit down and enjoy a nice breakfast.
WHAT YOU NEED
1/2 cup of flour
1/2 cup of wheat flour
1 cup of quick-cooking oats
2 cups of buttermilk (or 2 cups of regular milk with 2 tablespoons of lemon juice mixed in and set aside for 10 minutes)
4 tablespoons of sugar
4 tablespoons of butter
2 teaspoons of baking powder
1 teaspoon of baking soda
1 teaspoon of salt
2 eggs
WHAT YOU DO
1. Combine all the ingredients in a mixing bowl, stirring until it is pretty smooth. Remember, the oatmeal doesn’t actually
dissolve.
2. Let the batter sit for 10 or 15 minutes.
3. Heat a griddle to medium heat until water beads on the surface.
4. Butter the griddle slightly.
5. Pour batter onto the griddle and cook on one side until bubbles stop forming on the top.
6. Use a spatula to flip the pancake.
7. Cook the other side until it is done.
8. Serve with syrup, jelly, peanut butter, or whatever your heart desires.
Copyright 2007
Macho Chef is a registered trademark
The clock radio begins with some light jazz music set at a low level of volume. It starts to murmur at us about death and
destruction across the world, relating details about the latest meltdown of the latest political hypocrite, or regaling us with
quiet news about the gains or losses in investments that people with real incomes apparently consider vital news.
The words and music barely register.
Then, from down the hall, the alarm clock of the youngest child explodes with a loud rhythmic beeping designed to not only
wake up any living animal within a 5-mile radius, but to induce incontinence upon their rudely awakened bodies at the same
time.
I snuggle closer to Mrs. Chef in a vain attempt to pretend my life isn't about to continue on its pell-mell course through
another day of chaos.
The youngest springs out of his bed and manages to stomp rapidly down the stairs like a SWAT Team in full assault gear.
He calls to the pets by name, herding the dogs and cats outside, in a loud cheerful voice that makes me forget there is a
blood connection between us. There is a short pause, and then the television blares across the house in all of its screaming
cartoon glory.
Then the oldest crawls out of bed and stands at the doorway to Mama and Papa Chef’s bedroom.
I look balefully over the edge of the covers as he nervously shifts from one foot to the other before announcing, “Uh,
Mom, Papa, I forgot to tell you, but I need to make a diorama of the Invasion of Normandy for history class this morning.
Do we have any tape?”
Some people live in the fast lane, while others seem to end up in the slow lane. But me, I seem to be standing in on-
coming traffic.
There was a commercial for a breakfast cereal a few years back that would say something about how the first meal is the
most important meal of the day. Well, I figure if breakfast is so darned important, then Whoever's-In-Charge-Up-There
should have given us hairless apes a little more time to prepare it.
Remember the old black-and-white film where this guy had built a bicycle with wings, and he’s pedaling and flapping it like
crazy before he speeds off a cliff? He seems to think that if he can just go faster, pedal harder, and flap like a lunatic, then
he’ll soon be soaring through the sky.
I’m that guy.
The rest of the morning isn't any better as the oldest stumbles down the steps like somebody had just pushed an
unconscious mule down a well, before he promptly disappears into the bathroom.
Soon the rest of the family is pounding on the privy door and threatening to take care of our urgent biological problems in
the corner of his bedroom if he doesn't bloody well open up.
The adults in our house rarely eat a federally recognized breakfast. In general, we gulp a few cups of coffee and
supplement our caffeine with a handful of almonds and a few slices of whatever fruit we have hanging around the house.
And then it is off to the rest of the day, with Mrs. Chef bustling (really, what does bustle mean? It seems like maybe only
humans can bustle. Has anyone ever seen a cat bustle across the room? Do we ever say, “Golly, those howler monkeys
on the Discovery Channel sure spend a lot of time bustling in the jungle?”) Anyway, Mrs. Chef is scrambling to get the kids
dressed, organized and waiting at the door before the bus arrives. When the big yellow monster does pull in front of the
house, our chaotic morning forces the bus driver to wait while we spend a few seconds taping a toy soldier inside a
shoebox.
That’s our typical weekday morning.
The weekends are completely different. With those, we have a chance to relax and actually sit down to have a breakfast
together. Wait, I take that back. That means everyone but me has a chance to sit down and enjoy a nice breakfast.
- Papa’s Pancakes
WHAT YOU NEED
1/2 cup of flour
1/2 cup of wheat flour
1 cup of quick-cooking oats
2 cups of buttermilk (or 2 cups of regular milk with 2 tablespoons of lemon juice mixed in and set aside for 10 minutes)
4 tablespoons of sugar
4 tablespoons of butter
2 teaspoons of baking powder
1 teaspoon of baking soda
1 teaspoon of salt
2 eggs
WHAT YOU DO
1. Combine all the ingredients in a mixing bowl, stirring until it is pretty smooth. Remember, the oatmeal doesn’t actually
dissolve.
2. Let the batter sit for 10 or 15 minutes.
3. Heat a griddle to medium heat until water beads on the surface.
4. Butter the griddle slightly.
5. Pour batter onto the griddle and cook on one side until bubbles stop forming on the top.
6. Use a spatula to flip the pancake.
7. Cook the other side until it is done.
8. Serve with syrup, jelly, peanut butter, or whatever your heart desires.
Copyright 2007
Macho Chef is a registered trademark
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