Cornucopia

When the Boy came home fleeing before Hurricane Ivan, I rejoiced. The second night he was here, we ate waffles. He prefers Blackburn’s syrup; my husband and I like maple. We made the store run to obtain the right syrups—“because we are celebrating,” I told my husband.

An agreeable fellow, he asked, “What are we celebrating?”

“Waffles!” I said. We had not made waffles in a long time. Waffles and the Boy home again for a while and safe tonight from the storm, silly Man.

Waffles are a celebration. My uncle used to serve them on Sunday, or when he had guests. After a waffley breakfast at his house, I bought my own iron. Then I began the search for the perfect recipe. “My mother swears by cornstarch,” said my friend Cindy. Her mother, a true Methodist casserole lady, therefore one of the region’s great cooks, was out of touch when I needed a recipe of my own. I choose one from the internet because cornstarch was the key.

When my friend Barbara recently came to spend the night, it was time to celebrate again. I had sent the Blackburn’s home with the Boy, and we were low on maple. Time to make syrup. All I had was a cup of white sugar. I poured it into a pan and set it over a low flame.

“What are you doing?” Barbara said.

“Making syrup,” I said. “I want brown sugar, but don’t have any. I want it dark.”

“How do you know how to do that?”

“The Old Ones are telling me.” Between us Barbara and I had accumulated one hundred and ten years of living. Our friendship this lifetime stretches between us for a total of seventy-two years of loving and sharing. Together we are magic. Together we become a conduit for the secrets of Ancient Ones. Didn’t she know?

I stirred. We watched. A waffle steamed in the iron.

“It’s not changing colors,” she said.

The sugar was still white, but had begun to look like lumpy sand. “It’ll work,” I said. “Maybe.” It took waffles about five minutes to brown. We were making eight of them. We had time.

Now brown spots began to appear in the concoction on the stove. I stirred pretty constantly, but I don’t think it’s necessary. Barbara took over waffle duty. The brown spots spread, and liquid formed in the bottom of the pan. The brown spots darkened, melted to clear amber.

“Now water,” I said. I added a cup of water, a little at a time, because the sugar liquid sputtered and hardened, then melted again.

“It’s working,” Barbara said.

I hoped.

Something more was needed. I opened the refrigerator. Plum jelly. A friend had gifted me with nine jars, a luxurious blessing. Too fine to squander on sugar water, but I had an older jar in the cabinet, one I had made and forgotten about until recently. I fetched it along with an unopened jar of Elizabeth’s shimmering jelly for Barbara to take home. She held it to the light. It glowed.

The sugar and water simmered on the stove. I added two tablespoons of jelly. The jelly sank, two continents of spring settling below the surface. Then they, too, began to dissolve. Butter, a tablespoon, not too much, just round enough.

Breakfast was ready.

The waffles were crisp and light, the syrup sweet and plumily tart. Barbara and I added butter for good measure, but my husband ate his without. We also had soysage and facon, for a soy touch of the salty. The three of us munched in the morning light, sharing with the dogs who made their rounds, noses intent on tidbit rights.

“Janet told me the French, who are notoriously thinner and healthier than Americans, say if you really enjoy your food, it will be good for you,” I said. Janet is another friend, full of information. “Americans say if you like it, it’s bound to be bad for you.”

Who are you going to believe?

Good friends. Morning light. Honeyed time. Friends and family and dogs and waffles and ripe gifts of sunshine from luscious days already a dream away. Secrets from the Ancient Ones and from the ones who share your earth-bound journey. How can it not make glad your heart?


Barbara said she wouldn’t give the waffle secret away. I told her it was in the home-made family cookbook she had. “I still won’t tell,” she said. I don’t know if she just meant she wasn’t about to get into waffle-making, but if you have the time and friends, or just sunshine and sugar, is that not reason enough to celebrate? Is not any reason enough, or no reason at all?

Crisp Waffles
(check out www.taunton.com/finecooking/pages/c00164.asp for Pam Anderson’s recipe and plenty of waffle hints)

1/2 oz. (3/4 cup) bleached all-purpose flour
1 oz. (1/4 cup) cornstarch
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
3/4 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup milk
6 Tbs. vegetable oil
1 large egg, separated
1 Tbs. sugar
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract

Heat oven to 200°F. Heat the waffle iron. Mix the flour, cornstarch, salt, baking powder, and baking soda. Mix the buttermilk, milk, and vegetable oil together. Stir egg yolk into liquids.Beat the egg white almost to soft peaks. Sprinkle in the sugar and continue to beat until the peaks are firm and glossy. Beat in the vanilla.

Pour the buttermilk mixture into the dry ingredients and whisk until just mixed. Gently fold in egg whites. Do not overmix. Pour the batter onto the hot waffle iron and cook until the waffle is crisp. Keep waffles warm, unstacked, on a rack in the oven until all are cooked.


Barbara’s Crone Plum Syrup

1 cup sugar
1 cup water
2 tablespoons plum jelly (may substitute jelly of your choice, but you know as well as I do it won’t be plum syrup)
1 tablespoon butter

Heat sugar in heavy saucepan over a low flame until it melts and becomes dark amber. Stir occasionally. It helps to have a friend to talk to. If you get distracted and your sugar gets too dark, it might be bitter. If you get distracted long enough for something really disastrous to happen, I won’t accept responsibility. It’s best to mostly pay attention. When the sugar gets dark enough for your liking, remove to the heat and add 1 cup of water a bit at a time. Stand back! The stuff will sputter. It might be best if you add the water already hot. Return to heat and add jelly. Stir until dissolved. Add butter and stir until well mixed. Pour over waffles. This syrup is thin if it’s hot. If you prefer a thicker syrup, let it cool a bit.

Open your heart. Listen. Celebrate.