June 14, 2012   |   0 Comments
[ header image ]

Last weekend, Bob informed me, “I want to make waffles with the boys tomorrow.”  This is a big deal.

The very first food that our nearly 3 year old son ate was a tiny bite of Daddy’s waffle.  It was a proud moment for my husband.  And Mingus loved it.    That is, until he lit up like a light bulb, allergic to both wheat and egg.  Now, two years later, he has outgrown his food allergies and Daddy is going to give him his first waffle, again.

This time, Mingus is old enough to help make the batter. Bob reads aloud the recipe from the side of the mix bag and they get out the other ingredients.  Together, father and son carefully shake the mix into a measuring cup.  They add milk and oil.  Bob shows Mingus how to crack an egg.

Then Bob lets Mingus take charge.  Bob: “We need something sweet – do you want to use honey or maple syrup?” Mingus: “I want to put in maple syrup!” Bob: “How much?” Mingus: “Lots!”

Mingus is eager to use the waffle maker, but Bob assures him it is too hot.  Son asks, “Is it as hot as the flames on the rockets?” Father replies, “No, but it is very hot.”  Frustrated, Mingus finds his trains in the living room.

Bob coaxes Mingus back into the kitchen to make whipped cream: “Do you want to use the electric mixer?”  Mingus comes running.

The only problem with letting your two year old use a mixer is that the one year old wants to give it a go.  Beluga points to his chest and with all the authority he can muster and declares, “Turn!”  Aside from “M-i-l-k” – which he has learned to say in four syllables – it is his only word a stranger would understand.

The cream thickens and Bob gives Beluga a taste.  He immediately demands: “More!” [we give him another taste] “More!” [and another taste] “More!” [and another] … Finally, we hand him a beater to lick.  Meanwhile, I’ve been washing berries and the waffles are ready to assemble.  As we bring the plates outside for breakfast on the patio, I ask Beluga who made the waffles.  He thrusts out his finger, pointing at Bob, and tells me, “Da!”  He nuzzles into his father’s arms, a proud son.  Twenty minutes later, after the plates have been cleared, Andrew is still glued to his father, and still munching a waffle, as Bob sits down with him to watch the French Open on television.

Daddy’s Waffles:

Buy a waffle mix and follow the instructions on the side.  There will be egg, oil and milk involved.  Buy whipping cream. Whip it until you have stiff peaks.  If you over-whip it, you’ll have butter.  Which isn’t really a problem on waffles.  And if you add a little maple syrup to the whipped cream, you won’t need any poured on top.  Then pile on the berries:) 

Happy Father’s Day!


Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *