For a quarter of a century, I’ve grown up in a pancake household. My parents and I are strictly pancake people, favoring the fluffy breakfast delicacy to its competitor, the crunchy and less filling waffle.
It’s not that I didn’t like waffles. I’d eat blueberry toaster waffles on occasion. My mom ate toaster waffles too.
But we didn’t get up early to make waffles. We didn’t gather as a family to eat waffles. We never had a waffle maker to whip out for a delicious breakfast food dinner. It has always been pancakes.
Dad would grab the frying pan and start whipping up some crunchy bacon cooked to perfection then whipped up the trusty Aunt Jemima mix and poured it on the faithful griddle.
It’s been a long standing tradition that we, the Browns, are pancake people.