hearts.

panniecakes,
panniecakes,
baker-man!
i LOVE panniecakes.
i do.
waffles are great, too, for sure,
but,
pancakes have one exxxtra added bit of expertism,
and that's that they're capable of becoming other shapes.
think about it-
for waffles to be a new shape,
you need a whole other 'nother waffle iron.
i don't hate the idea of ten waffle irons,
but i do sort of dislike the idea of donating a whole cupboard
to my occasional dented-pancake variety show.
y'know?
yea, i think you do.
anyway, neighbors,
nicey mornings in the woodsly goodness are especially expert
when it's sunday, it's love-day, and it's not even any degrees outside at all.
uh-huh.
it's that time of year again.
the midwinter masochism native to all northern new englanders
sets in alongside the perpetual chill from without,
and nestles next to you within the marrow of the biting, rending,
savage, stormswept raging barbarian gypsy chillout banshee howling across the hills,
down from the frozen spires of the ghoulish granite mountains,
damn.
it's so cold everywhere,
and none of it feels good.
these are the days when the temperature turns into a cruel countdown,
dropping into the minuses, and those minuses culminating in absolutes-
words come to mind like: subzero, kelvin, abyssal vacuum.....
y'know, the works.
so,
it's especially important to cook up some hot fire for your hot partner,
and maybe even for yourself,
although it could be argued you deserve it a little less.
ha.
c'mon.
guys,
check the valentine-breakfast-type teleport:

awwwwwwwww.
s'kyoooooooooooot!
hearts on hearts,
in two sizes, (as in, hers and his, you pick which is which)
and circles, too-
just to summon the spirits and memories that make the magic matter more.
i mean it, that's for real.
coconut oatmeal panwell cakes, kids.
i've got my recipe, and i'm sticking to it.
heck, i even had a hot cuppathat custom pancake breakfast tea along with it.
really,
the coconut vanilla and the marigold syrupy yellowness really bring the
overall irish-style breakfast blend up to eleven.
and that's as it should be.
also,
when it comes to the cakey nuttiness of those pan-jauns
i don't use coconut flour. because it's just too yellowish,
and i think that's sort of uncool.
instead, in a spice grinder, i pulverize the flakes myself,
and i think the coarser texture,
and the way sexxxier color, both improve my 'cake scene a hundredfold.
that's no joke.
and i do the same with rolled oats.
yup.
about a quarter cup of each, against a cup of regular wheat flour,
with a punch of sugar,
a pinch of salt,
baking pow-pow and that soda,
and a healthy pour of vanilla,
in a cup-and-change-ish of vanilla almond milk,
curdled into butter-style mil by a generous squeezin' of lemon.
mmmhmmmmm.
that's what's good.
and you know i melt my butterishness up first, too, before i blend it in.
normally,
i'd use vegan sour cream at this point,
but lately, my white-peopley vegan market trips have been curtailed by my
the terrorizing terrorist terrier, so i don't have any.
it made only a marginal, meager difference, at most-
i just upped the ante with a dash of whisked up olive oil in the milk mix,
and it made up the difference with gusto.
seriously,
look at what i mean:

you know you  like those cookie-cuttin' shapey-shapes, for your face.
....that's right!
a little baking spray,
a few metal shapes
(yeah, i melted a plastic one a ways back, and learned my lesson)
and the very next thing you know, provided you didn't overfill,
and you rested your batter so as to not leave it all runny and funless,
you've got yourself some new hottness in full effect.
and that's when you take those perfect tens up a notch to eleven.
yup.
strawberries, and vanilla bean paste, and lemon juice, and lemon extract,
and powdered sugar, plus the thickener of your choice.
that's what you need.
why strawberries?
because strawberries go with valentine's day like roses and hearts,
plus,
they're red, and shaped like hearts in the first place,
and they pretty much taste like love before you eff with them at all.
expert.
that's not quite enough, though.
at least,
up here in the chilly wastes,
nestled within the warrior poet palace we call the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
we prefer to overdo ALL that we do,
and thus,
there are also cinnamon-vanilla-sugared roasted pecan sprankles, too,
plus a sploofy splat of ka-powdered sugar mix blasted
over the really real rural superiority of real grade B heavy-duty maple syrup.
breakfast is not permitted to be b!tchlike.
real talk.
*
it's cold,
but,
it's supposed to be.
i don't really like it,
but,
i don't think i should have to.
i had a great time, on either end of my workday.
a bookend-style fore-and-aft festival of fond feelings,
followed by a F*ing big jerk of a dog sleeping zero-seconds'-worth of the night.
yuck.
he tossed, turned, fidgeted, effed off, effed around,
and otherwise effed up the entire night.
someone had to,
because there's no such thing as an all-the-way-great time.
at least,
not where i live.
nobody leaves with the title,
but, occasionally, they at least get a good night's sleep afterwards;
never quiet, never soft.....