Yeah, I'm that kind of dad -- cinnamon, with a dash of vanilla. I come by it honestly. My grandfather, on my mom's side, used to demo pancake batter in grocery stores. My folks inherited his commercial griddle, and Dad put it to good use. Hotcakes were haute cuisine (haute cakes?) Saturday mornings when I was growing up. I can't tell you how many Saturdays I awoke to the smell of pancakes -- Bisquick. I didn't set out to make a religious figure. I was just down to the last of the batter and decided to try a happy face. I wonder what I could get on eBay for my flapjack Buddha. Dharma cakes anyone?
The good stuff:
Breaking in a new ball glove
The smell of new shoes
electric blankets
herb gardens
mint julep
wide front porches
bonfires on the levee
snowcones made with real snow
cattail swordfights
rootbeer floats
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