"Tomorrow is German pancake day!" my five-year-old daughter yells this morning. It has become a marker of time, "German pancake day." Every Sunday, just like a religious ritual, we make German pancakes. It is a recipe from family, and something that my family ate occasionally, but it was in with the mix of Swedish, and buttermilk pancakes, a sort of rotation of sorts. Our family is dedicated to German pancakes on Sundays, and if this is at all altered, my daughter will express pure disappointment and the down right injustice of skipping, or god for bid, replacing them with something much less desirable.
Ritual in our family is one of our tenants for allowing life to flow. We know what to expect; we look forward to the comfort. While Saturday's breakfasts are a mystery, the following morning we are brought together with a huge German pancake, that fluffs up in the oven and warms our hearts. Here's to ritual, powdered sugar, and dedicated time together on Sunday mornings.
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