A Successful Failure

 

Before we get to anything else today, happy birthday to Susan, the leader of the very small Rob Fan Club. I don't even think my own son is in that so Susan is probably the lone member. OK, she and Shawn Sailer.

She hates overwrought birthday messages so I simply call her "the GOAT." That will have to suffice. Plus, like me, she has a difficult (at best) relationship with her birthday. 

But I can't ignore it. Nor will I.

So happy birthday you Crazy Lady. 

*****

Among Susan's various gifts (or curses) is dealing with me. As she is a master chef and honestly could have a business making any one of a number of food items, she's my go-to for questions and concerns.

She heard from me today as this morning, I decided to be like Donkey, the character voiced by Eddie Murphy in the Shrek movies.

I was makin' waffles.

(Emma Kumer, Redbubble)

Oh, I've had a waffle iron for years. It was a gift from a bygone time.

I haven't used it in years and decided it would be fun to try again. We bought a waffle mix a few weeks ago and had the necessary accoutrements.

So I whisked the mix with oil and water as instructed however, I lessened the recipe a hair because it would just be Sean and me eating this morning.

Well, that didn't quite work. OK, a couple of smallish waffles were produced and I elected to start over, following the recipe on the box.

The consistency was different from the first batch but I soldiered on. I loaded the batter onto the already-hot waffle maker and stepped away.

I stayed patient. Waiting for any signal from the waffle maker itself would be too long and likely burn the finished product.

I opened the lid and the waffle promptly split in two.

Worse, I couldn't extricate it from the iron. I scraped and worked and, if you haven't figured it out, there would be no waffles today.

The waffle maker sits on the kitchen table where I'll continue to try to clean it. Otherwise, well, it might be done.

Remaining calm and not letting the frustration boil over, I reached for a griddle and lit the stove. I had a mix and there would be a plan b.

That's right: waffle pancakes. Wafflecakes.

I poured the batter onto the griddle and, of course, smoke rose to the ceiling. Nothing dangerous and the apartment was fully ventilated but, as you may expect, the smoke detector begin to sound out.

Again, I stayed calm, silencing that and airing the kitchen out.

The wafflecakes weren't burnt, for what it's worth.

When the smoke cleared (ha!), Sean and I scarfed our wafflecakes down. I thought they were fine. Nothing spectacular. 

I told him to have low expectations and was sort of prepared to hear how bad they were. I respect that honesty.

Alas, he said they weren't bad at all.

As I worked my way through this fiasco I was reminded of what Apollo 13 was. Oh, I'm not comparing a mission to the moon with the cooking of crappy waffles. I'm just saying Apollo 13 was deemed a "successful failure."

I used the same term -- in jest -- about this morning.

Yet, I'm sure you can figure out the conclusion that we both had.

Just go to Waffle House next time.