Stick-To-Your-Ribs Breakfast

I lived in the same house until I was 13 years old, and when we moved out it was an ordeal. Mom organized the troops, made rules, and gave everyone a job. All the furniture went into place on the main floor, and the miscellaneous boxes went to the basement, lined up in rows. Any time one of us went 'down below' we were not to come back empty-handed. She followed her own rule, and late that evening she climbed the basement stairs with various kitchen items and put them away in preparation for making us a good stick-to-your-ribs breakfast the next morning.

There was a good reason for the hearty breakfast. We had moved into the house my sister and her husband vacated and their belongings were loaded on a truck, waiting for us to accompany them to their new town and help offload and unpack. We would need the strength and longevity of a good meal.

Mom whipped up a batch of oat flour pancakes. Oatmeal is life-giving to the Scots, and her roots would allow her to eat nothing else on such an important day. We found the maple syrup and even fried up a little Canadian bacon for extra protein.

Normally, the first few pancakes are testers: too oily, too brown because the pan got too hot, or not quite cooked through ... you know how it takes one batch to get it right. Well, her first batch were beautiful! My brother Dave couldn't wait to dig in, and he downed them in a few minutes.

Dave mentioned that she might want to wipe out the electric skillet -- the pancakes were a little gritty. I could hear the sizzle of the next batch as she poured them into the pan and my mouth started watering. Dave might get the first pancakes, but we would be sharing the next ones to come to the table. The butter and syrup mingled perfectly, coating the golden cakes, and my first bite was delicious -- mostly because I expected it to be. With the next bite I realized the flavor was off, sort of chalky, and there was definitely a gritty texture reminiscent of eating sand. By this time Dave had noticed it too, and was beginning to look a little pale.

At that moment Mom realized she was not smelling that wonderful aroma of oats and wheat toasting as the pancakes cooked. What could be the problem? The skillet was clean, the baking soda, eggs, and milk were fresh, and the flour was ... the flour ... was ... not ... flour. Her shoulders started to shake as laughter took over. It was all she could do to choke out "Not flour. Plaster of Paris." We heard her laughter all the way down the hall as we raced to the bathroom.

She had followed her own rules the night before, as she hauled ingredients up from the basement. Only problem was, in her fatigue, she dumped a bag full of Plaster of Paris powder into the flour canister!

Throughout the day she would suddenly begin to laugh, then come up with a comment about unintentionally making us a real stick-to-your-ribs breakfast.

Yesterday I wanted to do the same for the Hawk and I, since we had an all-day fence-building job to finish. I pulled out my Maple Oat Scone recipe and got started, then realized we were out of maple syrup. What to do... We ended up with Bear Claw Almond Scones, made delicious and delicate with Jule's All Purpose Nearly Normal Gluten Free flour. www.nearlynormalkitchen.com