I was sad to watch the last Thanksgiving leftovers disappear from our fridge. There’s something comforting about a jar of sweet pickles, a bowl of mashed potatoes, and a plate of turkey covered in plastic or foil. But that’s where we’re at.
“Let’s have pancakes in the morning,” Martin suggested.
I am not one to say no to pancakes. Ever. They’ve been a Saturday morning tradition in my family for generations, so I always feel this nostalgic tug for a buttery cake off the griddle. I think that every member of my family has his or her own version. It’s part of how we identify ourselves like our family name, each signing it with different flair here and there.