We had our first true test of grit this Sunday for breakfast. Relative, of course, to the amount of "grit" it takes to cook breakfast (insert joke about grits?). But it was our largest group yet. A company of 17. I like to treat a breakfast of that caliber as if it were a well-orchestrated military offensive. 0700: We form ranks and review the battle strategy. At 0830 we're going to have 17 hungry guys bombard that dining room. The enemy, hunger. We've got to throw everything we have at it. Let's get to work. Pancakes were on the menu this particular morning. There was a flurry of preparation. Batter flying everywhere. Cracked eggshells scattered across the battlefield. I mean counter. The lone burnt sausage. He will be missed. Mmmm, I love the smell of Crisco in the morning (gettin' a little out of control with the war references, I know). As the guests began to take their seats and the food approached readiness we considered timing. Timing is everything in breakfast. Lily, my First Lieutenant was warming the spiced apples and pouring the OJ. "Alright Lily. We're going to send out the scones to test the waters. Bring the apples in shortly after. Then BAM! Hit 'em with the sausage. Just when they've settled in we bring out the big guns. Dozens of Clearwater's famous buttermilk pancakes. And to finish it all off let's get fancy and throw some chocolate chips into the reinforcement pancakes."
"Phew. Well Lily, we gave it our all. Now we just have to wait." I grip my wrist. Boy, flipping all those pancakes is a workout. I ponder the possibility of carpal tunnel syndrome. I'd be the first person ever to take medical leave for pancake elbow. After a bite to eat and a cup of coffee I allow myself a peek into the dining room. Look! One of them is leaning back in his chair. Hand on belly! Big sigh! Mission accomplished.
-Michael
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