I feel like when it comes to Pancakes V.S. Waffles there really is no debate. The glorious flapjack will always take the cake. As a kid I remember waking up on Sunday mornings to the glorious smell of my dad making pancakes. It was the only day of the week my dad used such kind methods to wake us up. School days started with a yank at the covers and a quick flick of the light, leaving us shivering and blinking in the fetal position. Sundays were different though. Sunday was the Lords day and Dad felt it was only right to usher it in with style and the flipping of the best pancakes known to man.
There were a few occasions, however, when Dad decided to get fancy on a Sunday and make waffles. Waffles always started out fun and exciting. The thing about waffles was that they were a bit of a novelty and we knew dad had taken the time to make each individual waffle with care in the time he could have made a whole short stack of pancakes. The man got up early for us and we were touched.
The problem always came shortly after breakfast began. As my sister and I sat down to eat it would become apparent who got the first waffle because the first waffle was by now stone cold. It was room temperature because the second one took too long to cook. The bearer of waffle number one was going to have to use the microwave before she even thought of applying butter. The receiver of the second waffle could expect her butter to melt but not spread. To this day I still believe that trying to spread a pat of butter across a waffle is one of the most frustrating things you can do at breakfast. The waffle becomes mutilated and unappealing yet still refuses to relinquish the butter pat. Instead it rolls the butter up into a crumb covered ball or holds it tight in a square divot. The process of getting it out is not unlike the process of getting lint out of a bellybutton and like the lint the butter is rendered useless.
I haven’t even gotten to the syrup at this point. Truthfully there is little to say about the syrup that you aren’t already picturing in your head. Maybe things were different for you. There’s no way for me to know your childhood experience with a waffle but mine was something like this: in order for the syrup to be worth it I was going to need to aim the bottle at the dead center of the pancake and just let it flow from one square to the next. Each square would fill and then over flow into the squares around it and so on until the whole waffle was covered. That all sounds so amazing but I was always cut off by my mother at around five by five squares full of syrup. The problem was that the waffle gave my mom a better visual of just how much syrup I was using. This is something that would never happen with a pancake. With a pancake the syrup simply spreads out and it is hard to tell just how much I’ve drained from the bottle until it’s righted and settled and I’m half way done with breakfast.
After all this don’t get me wrong. Waffles can be a fine treat but I will always stand by the tastiness of pancakes. Pancakes are simpler in flavor perhaps but their willingness to serve the eater make them truly the most delicious. When butter, syrup, and joy can be so easily spread with them what’s not to love?