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Saturday morning breakfasts were always a big thing for Mom. There is nothing wrong with a simple plate of scrambled eggs and ham on a Sunday morning after church, but she always liked having that bigger, special midday meal on Sundays. Saturday mornings are when the good stuff happened, a celebration to kick off the weekend. Start big on Saturday and end with a bang on Sunday, with plenty of snacking in between.
I grew restless a couple of Saturdays ago. Since last summer, I hadn't made a big breakfast, the kind that Mom enjoyed. Sure, I would make a quick breakfast burrito or a bagel with cream cheese, but not one of Mom's favorites. Sometimes, I am stuck in a rut and ask myself why I should bother. Grab a quick bowl of cereal or some fruit in my stomach, and I am off to take a mid-morning nap before I settle into whatever chores I have on my weekend to-do list.
This particular Saturday, I had no Pillsbury cinnamon rolls in the refrigerator, the smell that constantly stirred everyone in the house with their fresh-baked aroma. I rummaged through the cupboard of cake mixes and canned goods to find something mom would have liked. I found two boxes of Betty Crocker blueberry muffin mix nearing expiration dates, but I didn't have any fresh blueberries to put into the batter the way Mom would. I finally found a box of Kodiak waffle mix and a can of blueberry pie filling; I was ready to make the Saturday morning breakfast treat Mom loved.
This treat takes me back to North Carolina. A fellow teacher and I were bored one Saturday morning and headed to Raleigh for breakfast at an IHOP. She ordered a waffle with blueberry compote on top, asking the waiter to substitute the whipped cream topping for a side of sour cream. I was aghast. Sour cream with blueberries? Isn’t sour cream for a baked potato? Surprisingly, I tried this combination of sour cream and blueberries on my waffles and have become an avid fan.
On one of my trips home, I went to Denny’s in St. Clairsville with Mom and my aunt and uncle. I confidently ordered a waffle with blueberry topping and a side of sour cream - hold the whipped cream. They all raised their eyebrows, as shocked as I was at IHOP, wondering what in the world I was doing putting sour cream on the blueberry topping of my waffle. Of course, I generously offered them a small taste, converting Mom forever.
I pulled out the small waffle maker from underneath the oven, lodged behind the toaster and mixing bowls, which I used far more regularly. I wiped the remnants of unuse from the cover and plugged the waffle maker into the outlet to ensure it still heated. I mixed the waffle batter, adding an egg and milk to make it even more flavorful.
I cracked open the can of blueberry pie filling, which was not quite blueberry compote but still damned good with sour cream. As my waffle baked, I set a place for one at the kitchen table. Mom may not be here this Saturday morning, but I would be civilized and eat at the table rather than under a blanket while watching TV in the living room. I had my coffee mug and place setting organized. Fork on the left, knife and spoon on the right, a bowl of blueberry topping at 10:00, and a fresh container of sour cream at 2:00.
The waffle maker clicked as the red light blinked out, and I slowly lifted the lid to find a beautiful waffle. I struggled to maintain my effort at etiquette as I jammed a fork into the waffle to carry it from the counter to my plate on the table- so much for the decorum.
Mom would always carefully spread butter across her waffle before adding small dollops of blueberry topping and sour cream to each corner. I am my mother's son, but I had a whole can of blueberry pie filling and a fresh container of sour cream. I did not need to share either one with anyone. So I covered my waffle with several heaping spoonfuls of blueberry and a huge swath of sour cream.
For some reason, I act like a hungry dog who ate his last meal days ago, as if someone is lurking behind me, ready to snatch my plate as I lift the fork to my mouth. Mom would always shake her head, pausing between her smaller bites to lovingly advise me, “Slow down and chew your food.” I would put down my fork, cross my arms, and then reach out for a sip of coffee. Once I returned to eating again, I would join the rhythm of her eating, savoring the taste of the food and so much more.
On this morning, I sat at Mom's seat in front of the big window overlooking the backyard. I slowly used my knife and fork to cut my waffle into smaller, bite-sized pieces. I ate slowly, taking an occasional drink of coffee. My special breakfast seemed endless as I read the paper while I ate, thinking about the day ahead and looking out the window to see birds flying by the window to land on the bird feeder. My waffle with blueberry topping and sour cream tasted so good.
