"I think these are the best pancakes I've ever had."

Leslie is one of my favorite people to have over for a meal. She's appreciative and also not stupid. Some people are impressed just that you've cooked something, anything. Leslie has standards, and when she says, "I think these are the best pancakes I've ever had," I feel justifiably proud.

To be sure, the recipe is not my creation. I did a quick Google search this morning before she came over, and found Bette's buttermilk pancakes from a May 1999 issue of the San Francisco Chronicle. And I think my new griddle did a lot of good, too, though I'm still learning to respond to its heat-holding powers. The little pancakes just sizzled up so beautifully as they were dropped onto the griddle.

But more importantly, they were as delicious as they were beautiful. They were actually light, with a tender, just slightly sweet flavor. I love pancakes, but I almost never order them because they're often insipidly doughy and they land with a leaden thud in your stomach. And I rarely get to eat them at home because you can only divide a batter by so much, and even I cannot eat 10 pancakes for breakfast.

I served the pancakes with little patties I made out of DiPaola's turkey sausage from the Fort Greene Greenmarket, which again amazed Leslie, who didn't believe turkey could be so deliciously fatty.



It was a truly bounteous weekend of breakfasts. In addition to "the best pancakes ever" on Sunday, I had the most satisfying brunch of fried eggs, "Moroccan-style" on Saturday. After a 6-mile run, I couldn't imagine a better place to be than sitting in my sunny kitchen with some crispy fried eggs, dotted with deeply spicy harissa and anchovy fillets, a warm pita, and good coffee in my little white cup and saucer. I'm a very lucky girl.