Sunday morning breakfast, American style

American-style pancakes, with berries.

And with maple syrup. Yum.

As far back as I can remember, Sunday mornings meant having a leisurely breakfast and classical music on the stereo.  Instead of the usual Cheerios or Captain Crunch, Mom would make pancakes, eggs or French toast, biscuits, sausage, bacon. (We wouldn’t have them all at once, of course.)

And Dad would play classical music on the stereo while periodically asking me or my brothers for help with the crossword puzzle: “What’s the name of the knitting woman in a Tale of Two Cities. Seven letters. Third letter is an f. May end in E.” If I didn’t respond quickly, he would good-naturedly grumble: “What kind of education are they giving you anyway?”

This morning, big fluffy snowflakes were falling, so pancakes seemed like a good idea. Of course, we put on some classical music. And as we ate them with maple syrup, suddenly, even though I now live more than 4,000 miles from my hometown, I felt like a kid again.

We even had Canadian maple syrup. Yum.

Tagged as: American pancakes, childhood memories, pancake breakfast