Maple bacon pancakes
Pancakes
American cuisine
I have a dream. Not, like, an important dream mind you–well to me it is–but to no one else. It goes something like this: I live on a farm, in the middle of nowhere, like …oh…I dunno, say Colorado, and I have a husband and he’s awesome and I probably have kids and they’re awesome too. But the part of the dream that makes me most excited is that I have a pet pig. A really cute pet pig. And his name is probably something really proper like Howard…or Franklin, and me and this…Franklin are inseparable. We go for swims in the pond, he waits for me by the front door when I go and run errands, he sleeps by my bedside, we play in the mud together, and when no one’s looking, I give Franklin kisses. Because that’s what I do with animals I love…I kiss them, even if other people think it’s gross. One thing I don’t do with Franklin? Make these pancakes. I tried it once, in my dream, and he judged me. I can’t say I blame him, really. He propped himself up on a stool in the kitchen and glared at me. I apologized and …
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