Back in childhood, Sundays were pancake days. We always had some sourdough starter going in the refrigerator, and during his rock music phase in the late 60s (trying to get me interested in popular favorites) my opera-loving Father would shape “Jefferson Airplanes” on the pancake griddle. Another friend of the family always made rabbit shaped sourdoughs instead. Both were best eaten with crabapple jelly, the color of light-struck scarlet jewels poured into a glass jar, made by my Mother from the tree in the front yard—the bane of my existence, with its tiny fruit that fell in rotten showers in the autumn months and had to be raked up painstakingly out of the grass. But now the tree is gone and I feel nostalgic for those long-ago crabapples.
For dinner tonight, in honor of the day, I’ll make Zucchini Pancakes with feta and mint.
images: Blueberry pancakes + ice cream, Pj's Pancake House, Princeton, NJ, June 2007, Andreas Praefcke
Wagon Wheel Orchard, crabapple jelly
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