By Stephanie Rose
We recently started sort of a tradition, now that we have a kitchen at KAXE: Pancakes and sausage [usually pronounced chottch-idge] and vegetarian alternatives on Friday mornings around 9:30. Everyone's welcome to join us, of course!
When we started the tradition, John Bauer always made the pancakes. Jennifer Poenix and I were allowed to pour the juice, make the coffee, and occasionally, if we were very careful, get the local eggs out of the fridge. Gradually, though, after lots of careful observation, Jennifer's been granted more pancake authority. She can even make the pancakes without John's supervision now! I, on the other hand, haven't quite attained her level of pancake authority. But I'm fine. I'm great at getting the eggs out of the fridge.
Still, imagine my delight when I discovered, at the supermarket, Batter Blast: All-organic pancake mix -- already mixed, that is -- in an aerosal can [similar to a Redi-Wipp can]! I bought two cans of mix, plus chottchidge and vegetarian alternatives, and I waited for Friday morning with my fingers steepled.
So. This morning. Pancake time. No one was going to put Stephanie in the corner. I plugged in the griddle and started cooking chottchidge. I got the can of batter our of the fridge. No eggs. No mess. No mixing bowls. I even -- rather magnanimously, I thought -- allowed Jennifer to squirt the first batch of pancakes! When she flipped them, they were beautiful. Perfectly golden-brown.
So. Five minutes later. Pancakes were a gloppy mess. The coffee pot had stopped mid-brew. The griddle wasn't even hot. The Rev Dave was wringing his hands from lack of coffee. Train wreck in progress! Luckily, I realized that the breaker had tripped. So I reset it, and we were back in business. I squirted the next batch of pancakes. Five minutes later. Another gloppy mess. John Bauer moaned, "I'm sorry, but these pancakes are terrible!" He was done. Shut down. Not even extra chottchidge could change his mind.
I reset the circuit breaker again, and Jennifer moved the griddle to a new outlet, but it was too late. The magic was gone, and there wasn't any more batter-in-a-can. Half of KAXE's staff went pancake-less. It wasn't easy. Scott Hall tried to comfort me, but I've learned my lesson. Pancakes don't come in a can. And I'm content with my jobbies: Get the eggs out of the fridge and pour the juice.
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