Buckwheat thoughts

30 Jun 2006

My wife's been getting up earlier and earlier lately, rising at first light to carry on with her diurnal business. Not me, though. I like to sloth about until the last possible second, group for the snooze button at least once too many times, and then rush out of the house in a panic. But then I found out that she's been making pancakes for breakfast, and she's offered to make them for me as well if I could manage to join the land of the living a little earlier. I gotta tell you, today's been a red-letter food day. Those pancakes were delicious!

A quick tangent, and then back to the point ...

Even though I'm a highly computer-oriented guy, I still use a printed calendar at work. Mine is one of those spiral-bound, themed jobs; it features well written and insightful articles on the subject of running. The author, Marty Jerome, included a piece last May called "Fat" in which he said that, "When a workout stops being an obligation and becomes a seduction, look for a slender runner." So, I've been struggling to get to that point.However, now that I'm finally starting to enjoy running, I still fail to qualify as "slender." Something's wrong.

But it gets worse.Later in that same piece, Jerome continued: "Scores of them [marathoners] started running to battle fat. Now they start the morning with an all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast ..."

Well, I'm no marathoner. But I do LOVE pancakes and, for some reason, I * always * think about that particular sentence -- something I casually read more than a year ago, and it won't fade from memory.Ever have something enter your mind like that and then just stick there with an unexplainable persistence? I'm completely serious ... Sometimes when I run, I think to myself, "I can almost taste the pancakes. If I keep this up, I'll be eating pancakes all the time." It's like I've built up this single stupid image into something almost mythical. What in the hell's wrong with me?Who works out with the goal of eating pancakes?

Being an agnostic / borderline atheist, I don't buy into all this heaven and hell mumbo-jumbo. But, if I did, I think heaven would be like some huge all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast -- not free, but really cheap ... Like, $2.99 or something. When I'm in the emergency room and they're trying to revive me and my oxygen-starved brain is serving up hallucinations via whatever strange built-in mechanism we have that makes death a little easier, it won't be the clicheic "tunnel of light" I'm drawn toward; it'll be a wonderful, large cafeteria with friends, family, and famous people I've alwas admired, all eating pancakes -- buckwheat, with pure maple syrup from Vermont, and that cinnamon-apple topping that you only get at home or in the best restaurants ... Mmmmm, death.

Original Comments

Below, are the original comments on this post. Additional comments may be made via Facebook, below.

On June 30, 2006, Simon wrote:

Pancakes for breakfast never really crossed the pond to Australia. I must try making them one morning and see the results.

On June 30, 2006, wormstooth wrote:

My dad used to make pancakes Sunday morning when we were in church. Dad was protestant and ma was catholic. Actually, they still are. Anyway, those god damned Sunday pancakes were the best. To me, heaven, if it exists, might be a stack of pancakes, a glass of milk, and more of the same.

On June 30, 2006, Kevin Wolf wrote:

Pancakes were rare because we had a waffle iron. And even waffles were rare.

Only when we kids got old enough to make waffles ourselves did we have a sorta steady stream of waffles.

And, no, we never named any pet Waffles.

Breakfast out with the whole family was the best but it only happened about once a year.

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