Pancakes for Trixie

An Origin Story

When I was about seven, my father would make pancakes every Saturday morning. I would serve as his waitress taking my mother’s order. Dad used to say, “if you’re going to be a Famous Waitress, you’ve got to have a proper name for the job,” and thus, every Saturday Dad would bring out the cast iron skillet, add a pad of butter, and tell Trixie to take my mother’s order.

Is Famous Waitress a familiar term? I have come to realize that so many of my father’s idioms were in fact completely unique to him and not a common phrase. The befuddled look on my co-workers faces when I said they weren’t even a candy bar in their daddy’s back pocket when the original Star Wars came out illustrated that point quite clearly. Anyway, for those that did not grow up with John Ellsworth Weaver III, a Famous Waitress was the type that wore bright red lipstick, popped her bubblegum when she took your order, and called you Hun or Sug. “Can I get you anything else, Sug? Need a refill, Hun?” You know the one. Every good diner has one. I delighted in the roll of Trixie, popping my imaginary bubblegum and getting to call my mother Hun was a taboo for me, almost as terrifying as calling her by her first name. Honestly I was a terrible waitress. With only an imaginary pad and pencil, I couldn’t very well take down my customer’s order and I suppose my father could just hear her from across the kitchen island...not like there was really much of an option beside how many pancakes you wanted. You probably also didn’t want to entrust a seven year old with carrying a plate of hot pancakes covered in real maple syrup to the table so dad did that as well. Another check against me in the waitressing department. Sigh.

Real Maple Syrup was the only acceptable accompaniment to pancakes in my father’s opinion. He was the kind of guy who would bring his syrup with him to a restaurant. He would always ask the waitress with a hopeful head tilt if they served Real Maple Syrup and if the answer was no he would sigh to himself and look at the table dejectedly as the waitress walked away. Once out of sight, he would hoist his jug onto the table. When the food arrived, the waitress would eye the giant jug of Real Maple Syrup and more often than not my dad would attempt to get the waitress to pour out some syrup for herself to try. Not out of a sense superiority but simply because he wanted to share the things he loved with everyone. Quite honestly the pancakes he made at home were simply Bisquick mix; he was not a food snob he simply loved what he loved and that was that. To this day, it’s how I cook. I use Bisquick with Real Maple Syrup.

Me and Dad

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When I was four, I was enrolled in TIny Tots, a pre, pre-kindergarten program at a local rec center. I only have the vaguest memories of my time there; the strongest one being running around the bbq pit outside, miming clutching my oversized sparkly pink star earring and yelling, “Synergy, do your stuff!” Sadly a pink sequined dress ala Jem never did appear. Oh well, maybe that’s why I have pink hair now at 36.

One afternoon my mother arrived to pick me up with a sandwich and a bag of apple slices in hand. I, unready to part ways with my pint sized “boyfriend “ grabbed the sandwich and scampered off to split the tasty sandwich with my companion. Years later, I came to find out that the sandwich was not in fact meant for me and that I had casually stolen my mother’s lunch. The guilt from stealing from my mother lasted well into my twenties and led to me buying a sandwich for her on Mother’s Day for many years with profuse apologies every time. I don’t know if this says more about our mutual love of food that I could feel so much guilt for depriving her of something so delicious that she was so looking forward to or if it says more about my own personal sense of guilt. I am however fairly certain my mother regrets telling me that I stole her sandwich.

I do know that her proudest culinary moment was achieved once I was in the fifth grade. At this point, our family were practicing vegetarians and it could be a real struggle to get a child to eat enough protein and be happy about it. My mother had to get creative in looking for lunch solutions outside of a simple PB&J. She devised a Rainbow Pasta Salad recipe filled with vegetables, kidney beans, farfalle pasta, and her secret ingredient, Wishbone salad dressing. She would spend hours the night before meticulously chopping and sautéing to send me off with this unusual lunch item that became a huge hit not only with me but with my classmates as well. It got so popular around the cafeteria table that my mom would pack a second container for trading purposes. ( I actually just spoke to my mom as she was remembering fondly how I would trade that second container for dessert...I actually mostly traded it for ziploc bags full of salami or pepperoni, I just couldn’t tell her that at the time. Sorry mom!)

Mom and me in Portland for her birthday 2018

My mother and I are both introverted, quiet people and I was not an easy teenager. I think it was hard for my mom to communicate love and concern without fear of rejection stemming from her relationship with her mother or fear of scorn from me; as I said, I was not an easy teenager...or twenty something...or thirty something. One way we have always been able to communicate is through food. To this day, we regularly text each other what we are making for dinner, often with my mother listing out ingredients and asking for input or suggestions from me. It’s our way of checking in with each other and saying, “Hi, I love you. I’m thinking about you and I value your opinions,” I don’t know if that’s how other people communicate with their parents, but it works for us.

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Dad in the SCA circa 1978

My parents had a mutual love of history and were active members of the Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA) that found its way to me. They would dress in their pre-seventeenth century recreation garb, cultivate their skills in period arts and crafts, and create armor out of foam padding and sofa cushions before beating the snot out of each other with duct tape wrapped Rattan swords. To be clear, my parents didn’t hit each other with these mock swords; only other people. Their participation dewindled once I was born and we moved to California, but their love of history never did. Dad once wrote a This Day in Medieval History blog every day for an entire year. I, dear reader, can not endeavor to be nearly as prolific as he but I hope to share with you both their love of food and history as it has passed to me. A journey of curry, bread pudding, and the history behind the way we see food today.

Rainbow Pasta Salad

• 1 box Farfalle pasta

• 1 medium Vidalia onion, diced

• 1 medium red bell pepper, diced

• 1 medium yellow bell pepper, diced

• 1 can red kidney beans, drained

• 1 can whole kernel corn, drained

• 1 cup shredded purple cabbage

• 3/4- 1 bottle Wishbone Italian dressing

Directions

Cook Farfalle 1 minute short of package directions in a pot of salted boiling water.

While pasta is cooking, sauté onion with olive oil until soft and beginning to turn translucent. Add in both bell peppers and cook until soft, about five to seven minutes on medium heat. Drain pasta while Saving about half a cup of pasta water to add to your sautéing vegetables. Add kidney beans, corn, and pasta, lowering the heat a cooking for another five minutes. Turn off heat and add purple cabbage and dressing. Toss and refrigerate overnight.