Sundays have always been a sacred day for me, ever since I was little. And not because I was ever very religious. I just always believed that Sunday was my day, no one could touch it, no to-do list could put a gray cloud over it, and so on.
It was my time, and it was usually spent doing things with limited to know expectations. Several of those things revolved around family, which meant, several of my Sunday activities (or lack there of) revolved around food.
And this Sunday, I'm carb-loading because FYI carbs are not the devil. So over that thought process. Plus, I freaking love pancakes and I know how to make 'em. Hence, this:
I have a love-hate relationship with change. I love it. The many (annual and sometimes bi-annual) apartment moves I make will illustrate this very clearly, much to the dismay of family members trying to track down where to send letters.
I also crave stability, but when I get it, I tend to throw myself into something unstable again. What? Yea, well at least I'm hyper aware of my patterns right? That said, there's one place I can shut all of "it" off, "it" being the new projects I'm working on or the to-do list I seriously need to cross some line items off of. That place is the kitchen.
When I'm setting up for making pancakes, I can't think about what I need to do in five minutes, five hours, or five days. All I can think about is watching the bubbles rise on the batter so I know when to flip.
It ain't fancy, but they, were, DE-LI-CIOUS. And yes, those teeny circles were stamped on thanks to me not being able to find my stainless pan (another post-move-may-have-donated-what-I-wanted-to-actually-keep situation but so goes life). Dots or no dots, my pointillism pancakes were divine, and devoured in no less than 10 minutes (it wasn't a pretty sight so I'll spare you that visual).
A former roommate of mind used to always talk at (note the word "at") me while I was cooking in the kitchen. One time she said, "I can never cook for myself. It's too depressing. I don't know how you do it. It makes me feel so alone." Again, she's saying this at me while hovering over my shoulder. Have I mentioned how happy I am to a. still be in the Bay Area, and b. be able to afford my own place?
Anyway, I have never felt that way. Quite the opposite in fact.
I love making food for myself. Sure, I like making it for others, but on Sundays, I adore cooking breakfast for moi and then reveling in the glacial pace at which I move through the phases of cooking, consuming, sipping, and then slipping into a food coma.
I love cooking for people I love too. But there's something about having it all to myself.
I find peace in pancakes. I swear to you, it's like taking a day-cation at my home and it is a tradition I write about so I can remind myself to keep it for years to come. Maybe there will be a few more people in the house down the line, I welcome that, but for now, this is my time and I'm going to drink up every moment while I can.
Speaking of drinking:
I attribute my obsession with my coffee "setup" to my older brother. I now have a burr grinder (this one), a Bonavita electric kettle (this one; and truthfully I have no clue how I lived without it), and the perfect coffee beans that I measure out and grind (12 oz water, 4 tablespoons is my magic combination) up.
If I'm going to drink coffee, it's going to be a great cup of coffee.