This breakfast leaves me at a complete loss for words.
Okay, maybe not a COMPLETE complete loss. But quite close. It’s my I’m-sorry breakfast.
You know when something slightly painful and possibly embarrassing happens to a friend or a sibling or your spouse (cough cough), and it’s like they trip and fall in public but they are totally okay, not hurt whatsoever, besides the giant bruise to their pride… and you can’t help but laugh? Like you try so so so so hard to not laugh, but it just bubbles up inside of you and explodes?
Yeah. That happened to me recently. The laughing part – not the tripping part. Ironically, it sort of happened again last night and I wanted to be an adult and have learned my lesson… but I didn’t.
My husband has this thing where he is adamant that all of the light switches be flipped in the same direction. I’ve mentioned it before. But he’s SO adamant about it that even if it’s completely dark, he won’t turn on the light if it means flipping the switch in a different direction than the other switches on the panel. It’s the one thing he is pretty OCD about it and even he laughs about it at times. Let me explain though.
Sometimes he falls asleep on the couch downstairs. Sometimes I wake him up, which is occasionally impossible to the point where I assume he was somehow drugged. Real life: sometimes I don’t even wake him up because I want the bed to myself and he loves a good couch-sleep. Either way, he might find himself waking up and wanting to come up to bed in the middle of the night. I always leave a light on for him downstairs since I know how dark it gets. Like really dark. But of course – he turns off that light before coming upstairs, and refuses to turn on any lights downstairs (that can be switched off upstairs of course) due to his light switch fascination. Therefore, he’s in the dark! In his sleepy stance which is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Total sleep drunk.
A few weeks ago, I woke up as soon as I heard him stumbling around downstairs in the middle of the night. He makes it half way up the stairs and then I hear a thud and a screaming slew of profanity. I jumped out of bed and yelled down to make sure he was okay (I am always concerned about this since at 5AM he stumbles down the stairs in the dark every day), turning on the light as I did so. I found him face down on the staircase clutching his foot, apparently after kicking something (a step? A chair? Something he could have seen WITH A LIGHT ON?) and I… just… started…laughing. Like hysterically. I actually had to go into the other room because I was laughing so hard. I had to throw myself on the floor and laugh into a sweatshirt.
I’m a terrible person.
It’s not funny. But it so is.
But to make me seem like less of a terrible person, I’ll tell you that he wasn’t hurt badly, but in his sleepy middle-of-the-night mess, he started to say that he broke his toe (he didn’t) and that just made me laugh harder. It was 3AM and here I was in a bizarre comical trap. When he finally made his way up to bed, he just tossed and turned and moaned that his foot hurt yet refused ice and advil and a pillow and for some reason I couldn’t stop the giggles. I tried to help. I swear.
Don’t worry though, the next morning he didn’t even remember that I was laughing, that’s how out of it he was in that moment. I mean – really out of it. Sleep drunk. You know?
Last night, he ran upstairs to grab something and slipped on the (carpeted) steps on his way up. This time he was totally fine as was his foot, but for some reason it set me off again. It’s like something out of America’s Funniest Home Videos, but only funny if you’re there. Why do we laugh? Or at least, why do I laugh? I’ve done it before and I’m sure I will do it again.
So anyway, this was my pancake apology. Which is even more outrageous because I don’t think I’ve ever seen Eddie consume one single thing with lemons except vodka or lemonade or vodka lemonade. So it’s like double (triple?) the insult here. Luckily, I somehow won on this one and he actually ate them. And liked them.
Which is huge. Because we don’t only have lemon… we have ricotta. If you’ve been reading along, you know ricotta is the one thing he loathed for a long time. I won’t bore you again with a random story, but yeah. Ricotta.
As for me, I’d like to consume my weight int these pancakes every morning.
The ricotta gives them a delicious little fluff, but the bittersweet chocolate and lemon are key. They are such an uncommon but fabulous combo. I want to stuff them inside of everything, like crepes and cookies and… and… all the things.
Yield: serves 2 to 4
Total Time: 30 minutes
2/3 cup ricotta cheese
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 cups milk
1 lemon, juiced and zested
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
2 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped
1 lemon, juiced and zested
1 1/2 cups powdered sugar
1/2 tablespoon brown butter
Add the ricotta to a food processor and blend until completely smooth, scraping down the sides of the bowl when needed.
In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, soda and salt. Whisk together until combined. In a smaller bowl, whisk together the ricotta, milk, lemon zest, lemon juice, vanilla extract and butter. Add the wet ingredients to the dry, mixing until smooth and combined.
Heat a large skillet or electric griddle over medium heat. Add a bit of butter if desired, then pour 1/4 cup of batter on the hot skillet and repeat, leaving an inch between pancakes. Cook until the pancakes bubble on the top and edges, about 2 minutes. Flip and cook for another minute or two until golden and set. Top the pancakes with some chopped bittersweet chocolate and the lemon glaze.
Whisk all ingredients together until smooth. If the glaze is too thick, add more liquid (lemon juice, water or milk) 1 teaspoon at a time. If it's too runny, add more sugar (1 tablespoon at a time) until it reaches the desired consistency.
[pancakes adapted from allrecipes]
What if we did chocolate covered candied lemon peel? Um yeah. That’s happening.