Salmon Pancakes

It was a Sunday morning.
The air was crisp, the color of the Autumn leaves at their peak - the sun was shining brightly. 
And, on this particular Sunday, nowhere to be until 1:15.

 When I opened the door to let the dog out,
                          the scent of breakfast wafted through the air.     

Bacon.  

Definitely bacon .  . . . . . somewhere.


Maybe I'll cook pancakes for the kids today, I thought. 

And bacon.

Definitely bacon.


As I pulled a cast iron pan out of the cabinet, and placed it on the stove top,
     my fifteen-year old son, Jack, said,

     "You aren't going to use THAT pan, are you?  You cook MEAT on that pan.
                               Our pancakes will taste like MEAT!"

I brushed his comment aside, and continued with my pancakes.


As I poured the batter into the pan, I caught the scent of something unrecognizable.
I flipped the pancake over, and as it cooked through,
     I tore a small piece off with my fingers, and placed it in my mouth.

 It did not taste like pancake.

After a few seconds in my mouth, I was able to identify the flavor,
     laughing to myself as I remembered when I had last used the pan.   

     "Hey Sam!" I hollered over to my twelve-year old, who was in the next room.

     "Want to try the first pancake?" I asked.

My youngest of three, Sam, LOVES his food,
                                    and will try just about ANYTHING.  

     "Yes!" he responded, as he appeared from around the corner. 

He put a bite in his mouth, and I observed him closely,
     as a strange expression came across his face.

     "It tastes . . . . . . WEIRD," he said.

     "Weird . . . . . . HOW?" I asked (a slight smirk on my face).
 
     "It tastes like . . . . . . EGG?" he stated (in the form of a question).   

     "Are you sure it doesn't taste like . . . . . . SALMON?"  I asked.

His face immediately changed,
     as he realized the source of the flavor that lingered on his tongue.

     "Ewww, yes!" he said.  "It tastes like SALMON!"

The three of us exploded with laughter.   

As I took the pan off the stove to replace it with a new one, I said to Jack,

     "Man, I HATE it when you're right!"

In the meantime, Sam
     put the remainder of the "salmon pancake" on a plate,
and asked,    

                                                    "Where's the syrup?" 



Oh, and, if you are wondering about the bacon, THAT never happened. 

I ran up to the local market to buy some, and they were completely OUT. 

The new batch of pancakes (on the non-salmon cooked pan),
     however, tasted good.

More importantly, they tasted like . . . . . .

                                                            PANCAKES.