Recipes. They are wonderful things which allow for repeat results and controlled fiddling. And, every once in a while, I think about tacking this recipe down on paper. But each time I come to actually making them, I can't help but revel in the rhythm of making them by dash and handful.
So much of life feels dictated by rules, clocks, and calendars and it is a comfort, a little stick-it-to-the-man, to make pancakes without careful measurement -- or often, any measurement at all. Each time it's a toss-up as to whether they will turn out as I want... a good reminder that perfection is not a key element to joy or pleasure.
So I gather the ingredients, crack the eggs, beat in some pumpkin and honey, add a dash of baking soda, salt, and pie spice, then in goes the almond flour. It becomes about the silky texture of the eggs and pumpkin together, the subtle sweetness of the honey and clapping your hands to get the last little bit of cinnamon off your palms.
So much of life feels dictated by rules, clocks, and calendars and it is a comfort, a little stick-it-to-the-man, to make pancakes without careful measurement -- or often, any measurement at all. Each time it's a toss-up as to whether they will turn out as I want... a good reminder that perfection is not a key element to joy or pleasure.
So I gather the ingredients, crack the eggs, beat in some pumpkin and honey, add a dash of baking soda, salt, and pie spice, then in goes the almond flour. It becomes about the silky texture of the eggs and pumpkin together, the subtle sweetness of the honey and clapping your hands to get the last little bit of cinnamon off your palms.
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