Making Pancakes

I know what’s on the card, the right

ingredients, but still I pull it out

every Sunday when breakfast calls so I

don’t get confused by the amounts, different

from waffles, muffins, or a chocolate cake,

though any one would suffice on a Sunday morning.

I don’t sift, just dump everything into a bowl,

the dries in one, the eggs and oil and milk

in another, then mix it all together, stirring gently.

I make modifications as I go, more of this, less of that,

a little extra milk, only a third for a thinner batter,

more spread on a hot griddle, lighter, stackable,

those tiny bubbles forming and bursting - flipping time! -

and a touch more baking powder. I’ve since added nutmeg

to the recipe, not something my mother taught me,

but my own trial and error of cooking, nutmeg

a nice flavor, “warm, slightly nutty”; and

it’s good for me, for a healthy heart, for boosting

my moods, improving blood sugar control and

my libido, according to the rats who tasted it.

But it does, as everything does, come with a warning;

ingesting too much, more than is prudent, causes problems

for mice, and the taste buds, but the eighth of a teaspoon

I use falls well within the safe parameters of the FDA

and of modifying a mother’s recipe, handed down

from generations of mothers making pancakes

for Sunday morning, but without the benefits of nutmeg,

drowning them in maple syrup and melted butter oozing

over the sides, like now, stacked high on my plate

this Sunday morning, a health-conscious breakfast

washed down with coffee, orange juice, and a side of bacon.