I got a random text from my friend Sara that read: “Pancakes sound so good right now.” Followed by the short-but-necessary modifier: “Fluffy ones.”
This was not in the morning, or on a Sunday, it was at 3:20 on a Thursday afternoon (if it was an hour later at 4:20 I could understand, zing!). When I talked with her later that night she couldn’t stop talking about wanting said griddle circles, and how she and her boyfriend went to a place in New Prague, MN that had ones that were “fluffier than a mofo.”
Fluffier than a mofo? Aw, hell no. “What is the name of this place?!” I begged of her.
It’s called the Flipside Pub and Grill. The only downside of Flipside, apparently, is that they don’t serve alcohol before noon, as to not conflict with wine-sipping Sunday church services. (Maybe that’s why New Prague is actually pronounced New “Pray-gue” in that neck of the woods.)
I got off the phone with Sara, who was still talking about pancakes at the end of our 33-minute conversation. “Whenever I make pancakes, they just never come out the same as theirs,” she moaned. I recommended adding an egg and buttermilk to the batter. About five minutes later, I get this picture text from her.
Followed by this one, accompanied by the text, “Fucked it up already!!… Ugggh… I need their recipe.”
Let us put a pancake on our heads, and pray for the pancake god’s blessing to deliver this request.