Taking pride in collapsed cakes, ruined pans, and cooking failures of all sorts, my grandma B is not the chef of our family. Thus, she is forced to substitute dinner parties with pancake breakfasts. Claiming culinary ignorance, she calls upon us grandchildren to perform the mixing and flipping. After reminding us to serve from the left and clear from the right, B seats herself at her salvaged lime-green painted table alongside the people who have so often treated her to fancy dinners. As she talks up her expensive mail-order maple syrup, she, by sheer charm, repays her guests twice over.
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