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blueberry pancakes – much healthier than the american version

blueberry pancakes

blueberry pancakes

I’m blessed to have a few but dear friends I can always count on. One of them, the best one, recently visited me. She’s like a sister to me and I love her very much. She has lived for the last 12 years in California, so the last time I saw her was about 6-7 years ago. We always pick up where we left, I never felt like there was a break at all. It feels almost like having a twin – we always know without talking and with the ocean between us when something happens in our life, when we are sad, or we are going through something dramatic.

If you have a friend you truly love and don’t need words to communicate with, you know you are lucky.

First morning after she arrived I made pancakes – my interpratation of an American favourite. It will always remind me of her.

 

Pancakes but much healthier than the American version

Ingredients

1cup of wholemeal flour

1/2 cup of spelt flour

1/2 cup of ready oats

1 teaspoon of baking powder

1/2 teaspoon of baking soda

1 spoon of cinnamon

2 eggs

blueberries

maple syrup or agave nectar

1 or 2/3 glass of soya milk

knob of butter

1. Mix all dry ingredients in a bowl. In a separate bowl mix eggs, milk and melted batter. Add those to the dry ingredients and leave the mixture for at least half an hour on the side.

2. Warm heavy frying pan. Wait until it’s really hot. Add blueberries to your batter, fold gently.  Using a ladle pour some batter, wait till the top of the pancake begins to bubble, turn over, and fry until golden brown.

3. Repeat till you use all the batter, if you are making a lot of pancakes for many people, keep the ones you made in a warm oven until they’re all ready.

 

pancakes

pancakes

If you just want simple pancakes, instead of wholemeal flour and ready oats use normal flour and ordinary milk instead of soya – and voila!


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About potatofaces

People who cook always go on about precious memories of childhood food one of their family members cooked, how daddy or nanny taught them the importance of cooking and eating together, and they still remember the comfort food they produced, amazing dishes whipped up by brilliant but humble cooks in their family. Well, let me tell you, it was totally different in my family. My mother’s family – totally useless as cooks, who could survive on bread and butter, cooked once a week a terrible, terrible meal, usually some kind of meat piece with lots of brown sauce. Also, they were never bothered about eating together. That’s maybe why most of them were depressed and suicidal. My mother followed that path and couldn’t really cook, and because I never wanted to eat meat, was warning me that ‘one day I will regret it’. Probably because my mother wasn’t into cooking my sister at the age of 12 took over and started producing amazing dinners and cakes. Well, luckily for me and her we weren’t that genetically doomed because apparently my father’s family were gifted in that compartment. I can only presume it was genes, as my father divorced my mother when my sis and me were little and he strongly believed that he also divorced us. So, we were growing up never having any contact with him and as a result, couldn’t learn how to cook from him. That’s why I believe the love of cooking ( and the ability) was just passed to us genetically. My father, short time before he died, unexpectedly felt an urge to contact us. First he gave my sister a mandolin (that’s another thing I know about him- he played a few instruments). My sister refused to talk to him, he then decided to contact me and wanted to spend some time with me. I didn’t want to, as he was a stranger to me (I was 11 or 12 at the time) but as I was promised I could leave whenever I wanted to, I went to the village he lived in. There I tried his mother’s cooking everyone was raving about. It was simple and amazing, I wish they were as family dedicated as they were at baking, cooking, making pastries, wine, tinctures, you name it. But I ate, drunk, and got bored of strangers who were my family and demanded to be let to go home. One of the last things my father said to me was that I should start learning English because I might need it one day, which I ignored for another 16 years… Because my sister was such a domestic goddess I wasn’t really bothered about cooking. I got hooked properly after my son was born and I wanted him to eat healthy and get everything he needed, especially that it wasn’t his choice to be a vegetarian (yet). And that is how the story begins…

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