Thursday, February 25, 2016

The Awful Waffle

Last night, Bridger was making some Sponge Bob Square Pants mac and cheese. He pulled his chair in front of the stove, and started to play his guitar.

"Watched pots never boil," I told him.

"I'm not watching it; I'm serenading it."

Serenading the pot of water

Later, while we were talking about plans for today, our last day together for awhile, Bridge asked if we could go out to breakfast.

"Let me make you a nice breakfast at home," I had said. He seemed agreeable."What would you like?"

"A waffle. Two eggs over medium. Bacon."

Now I hate making bacon; it's so messy, but I love making my family happy, so bacon would be on the menu.

This morning, I planned to let Bridge sleep in until 8, and I started to get breakfast ready around 7:30.

When I make waffles, I like to whip up egg whites until stiff peaks form, and it makes a nice, crispy shell outside of a soft, fluffy waffle. But since I'm trying to eat a little healthier, I decided to make mine an oatmeal waffle. I couldn't find the Pam cooking spray when the waffle maker's ready light flashed on, but I figured it would still be sufficiently oiled from the last time we had waffles, a couple weeks ago.

I was wrong. Oh, was I wrong.

The Awful Waffle
Bridger had wandered into the kitchen by the time the light signaled the waffle was ready. I tried, unsuccessfully, to open the waffle maker. It was cemented shut with my oatmeal waffle. Bridger helped by prying the appliance open, and went to scrape off the crispy remains. "Don't use a fork; you'll ruin the Teflon!" I scolded. He looked at me incredulously.

Suffice it to say that it took awhile to remove all traces of my oatmeal waffle fail. Bridger's regular waffle came out beautifully.

I had started the bacon and coffee before the waffles. I didn't do the greatest job with the bacon. A couple pieces were what you'd call very well done. Okay. They were burnt.

Then I started the eggs. "Over medium?" I asked. "I don't really know how to do over medium. I can do runny, and I can do over hard. Want to help with the eggs?" I cracked the two eggs into the pan, and both the yolks broke. Ugh. This morning wasn't going so well. And to think I could have avoided all of this by simply driving B into Richfield, and ordering a hot breakfast delivered to our table at the Little Wonder Cafe.

I managed to make a couple of golden brown waffles, to salvage our meal, and we sat down to eat.

While we were eating, Bridger looked at me. "'Don't use a fork," he mocked. "You'll ruin the Teflon.' Like the Teflon was doing such a great job anyway." He had a point.

We both started to smile. I noticed there were two uneaten pieces of bacon still on his plate. They would be the burnt ones.

Burnt Offerings

"This breakfast didn't go too well. I'm sorry about the eggs. And the burnt bacon. Some breakfasts are like that...even in Australia." (A nod to Judith Viorst's Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.)

"Memories..." Bridge said. 

It's true. Who remembers the meals when everything is perfect, when everything goes as expected? Those boring, commonplace times we take for granted. But a breakfast like today, that's one for the books. I've had a number of fiascos in the kitchen that have been memorable.

The awful waffle breakfast will not be forgotten any time soon.


  1. Replies
    1. Ha ha ha! I just saw this comment. Thank you, Cynthia for sharing a smile here.

  2. Love this story. Perfect imperfections.


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