CHOCOLATE CHIP PANCAKES
Time: 20 minutes
Servings: 2
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2/3 banana or apple
½ cup of oats
2 eggs
2 teaspoon vanilla
2 teaspoon cinnamon
Chocolate chips (optional)
Break the banana, or chop the apple into medium sized pieces.
In a blender, add the banana or apple, oats, eggs, vanilla, and cinnamon and blend until they combine to form a batter. If the batter is too liquidy, add a little more oats and fruit.
Spray a pan with oil, then on medium heat, pour the batter onto the pan. As soon as the batter is put down, add the desired amount of chocolate chips and add a little bit of batter on top of each chocolate chip.
Flip the pancake once permanent bubbles are visible around the edges.
5 AM Restaurant
The digital clock’s bright blue digits blinked 1:13 AM. The room was lit by the blinding blue light of Rachel’s iPod touch. Both of us sat upright on the firm king sized bed with our short legs warmed underneath the heavy embroidered comforter, our eyes glued to the screen.
“Alright, we have a fruit platter, scrambled eggs, toast, and cinnamon buns. I feel like we need one more thing,” Rachel’s raspy voice whispered as she scrolled down the list of foods.
“Pancakes?” I suggested. It seemed like a reasonable food to have for breakfast.
“Oh my god yes! I just watched this video on how to make rainbow pancakes!” she whisper-exclaimed.
“So what time should we wake up?”
“Let’s do five.”
“Oh, ok,” I replied nonchalantly trying to hide my dread. My mom called my siblings and I raccoons because our sleeping schedules resembled that of nocturnal animals. Because of this, mornings were not exactly my favorite time of day.
“We should make menus to show what we’re going to serve,” she said as she hopped off of the tall bed and rummaged through a drawer in her grey wooden desk. Closing the drawer, she revealed two pieces of hot pink construction paper and multi-colored glitter pens.
We spent about thirty minutes doodling spiral designs creating a detailed border around the paper, then writing the names of our dishes in neat cursive. At around 2:00 in the morning we finally went to sleep.
It felt like I had rested my head on the pillow for no longer than a minute when the blaring alarm shot open my exhausted eyes. Both my body and mind were heavy, glueing my limbs to the cozy mattress warmed by my body heat. I could tell that Rachel felt the same because she groaned before slowly lifting the covers off of her tiny frame and hopping off of the bed. I mimicked her actions, though I wasn’t happy about doing so.
We carefully opened her door, pausing between each movement to listen for any sounds inside of her massive house. We crept to the kitchen in silence attempting to make as little noise as possible, our heads of long dark hair in frizzy tangles.
The granite tiles of the kitchen were icy on the soles of my feet as I switched from a walk to a tiptoe. Light clinks and clanks interrupted the silence as we pulled pots and pans and whisks and spatulas out of cluttered cabinets and drawers. More sounds were created by retrieving ingredients from the pantry and refrigerator, though they were not loud enough to interfere with anyone’s sleep. Once we had all of our materials we began cooking our lengthy menu.
After turning on the oven, we sprayed a tray with canola oil, opened a can of Pillsbury Cinnamon Buns, then plopped the soft dough onto the greasy tray. As we waited for the oven to heat up, we washed a colorful variety of fruits, which we chopped with precision and set in a spiral on the largest platter we could find.
“The presentation is just as important as the flavor,” Rachel informed me as she placed a plump blueberry on the platter. She was much more skilled in cooking and baking, probably because she took cooking classes every summer at a sleepaway camp, which made it easy for me to trust her judgement.
The scrambled eggs and toast were pretty straightforward, so we prepared those with ease, as the scent of cinnamon sugar filled the kitchen. However, our next endeavor was going to be a bit more difficult for me. I had only made pancakes once prior to this event, and it was a scarring experience. I could not flip a pancake if my life depended on it, and that was a tragic trait that I had to live with.
We divided the gloopy batter into separate bowls and added drops of different food coloring to each, resulting in vibrant blue, pink, green, and yellow batter. The sound of fire igniting on the stove startled me as my nervousness heightened. Rachel nonchalantly scooped spoonfuls of the bright batter onto a greasy pan, making the sizzling pancake look tie-dyed. In what felt like a matter of seconds, Rachel flipped the pancake, then set it on a plate and handed over the intimidating spatula.
Uncapping the greasy cooking spray can, I sprayed a generous amount onto the pan, which in response sizzled aggressively. I plopped some spoonfuls of batter onto the pan, then waited for the bubbles to arise.
After a couple of minutes Rachel instructed, “you can flip it now.”
I nodded in response, and slid the plastic spatula underneath the pancake. This was the moment where I would mess everything up. I focussed on the pancake as I carefully lifted it above the pan. Counting to three in my head, I flipped my arm in one swift motion, resulting in the pancake landing in the pan. I shocked myself as I stared at the perfectly flipped pancake. However, even though it was a huge accomplishment for me, Rachel didn’t know that I had never flipped a pancake before, so we didn’t really celebrate my achievement. Instead, we just moved onto the next pancake, although, inside I was beaming.
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