There's a reason Etta sings about wanting this kind of love. Sundays are sacred, and it trickles back to childhood. To pancakes and pajamas. To slowing down and drinking coffee from a mug, not a paper cup made from 40% post consumer waste and the anxiety of standing in line with the masses for morning joe. Sunday is the day to make that big breakfast. To cook the bacon, stir the batter, sleep in, and enjoy the New York Times crossword puzzle.
So today as I sip from the ceramic mug I made that summer in college I stayed on campus, as the bacon sizzles and pops on the stove and I enjoy the blessedly quiet moments before roommates wake up and the house is buzzing, I am reminded of how wonderful Sunday morning really is. I am transported to my parent's kitchen stirring pancake batter with my father while my mother started the coffee pot. It's like waking up after a snow storm before the plows have cleared the streets; the serene calm coats Sunday morning, and I am always grateful for the moments I'm lucky enough to enjoy it.
Lately I've noticed the craziness of everyday life has revved up. In response, I've taken the complication out of my cooking. Fresh ingredients mixed well, and smartly paired. So today the bacon will accompany a family favorite; teddy bear pancakes. The first recipe I ever mastered, from the first cookbook I ever had, from the best kitchen a cook can know.
: )
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