Every Saturday morning, my dad gets up earlier than the rest of the family (nothing unusual there), makes a pot of coffee, and proceeds to whip up roughly 1,000 whole-wheat pancakes for my family’s breakfast. Everyone sits down, we pray, and Dad sets the steaming stack (kept warm in the oven) in the middle of the table for devouring. Growing up, we were allowed butter OR syrup (not both, are you crazy?) on top. I’m not sure if this rule still stands.
Nathan’s family, however, has a tradition of making waffles. On Sunday mornings. (Marriage is so hard — how do you reconcile these sorts of cultural differences!?) 🙂 Throughout the morning various Spearings trickle into the kitchen, lured by the smell of whole-wheat blueberry waffles. The table is set with honey, maple syrup, butter, fruit, and more. The family prays and then pounces on whatever waffles have already come off the iron (manned by Dad Spearing). As the plates are cleaned, all eyes are on that little light on the waffle iron — and the waffles keep on coming.
Since we’ve been married, I’ve loosely carried on the pancake tradition, not so much in the name of tradition as a congenital craving for pancakes come the weekend. I know Nathan loves waffles, but given our limited kitchen space, I’m hesitant to buy a one-trick appliance. I’ve never heard of any great secondary uses for a waffle-maker.
Then, this happened:
Nathan bought this on a Saturday morning in the thick of a particularly fierce waffle craving. Please note: this waffle iron is actually bigger than the stove in the promotional picture on the box. Noticing my skeptical look upon realizing the appliance’s actual size, Nathan assured me: “The woman at Bed, Bath and Beyond said we can bring it back after we use it if we don’t like it.”
(An elephant has been placed next to the waffle iron for reference purposes.)
Now, in its (and Nathan’s) defense, this thing made some pretty darn good waffles. We decided that for our trial-run, we would go with a classic buttermilk batter, and they were tasty and perfectly cooked. Hmm, I thought, maybe we can just return it, buy it again next time we want waffles, return it again … But that could get old after a few weeks.
(He looks so happy…)
In the end, we decided it had to go back. Like a new puppy, it was fun at first. But where would we put it? And who would end up taking care of it? Before we knew it, it would be twice this size and digging Eli’s used diapers out of the garbage and strewing them across the hallway… (Okay, I might not be talking about the waffle iron anymore.) But still, the waffle iron had to go. For now, we’re going back to the Pittman tradition. But this time, I’m using butter AND syrup. (Don’t tell Dad.)