Moonstones Chef joked the other day that as he was driving down 495 he saw a giant sign, with a red arrow pointing down over moonstones that flashed “RED VELVET PANCAKES” It was clearly funny–everyone snickered. And, admittedly, I have promoted the Red Velvet Pancakes liberally. Poke fun at me sure, but seriously, why not? (Promote pancakes that is, NOT poke fun at me)
Here’s the thing. After too many months of listening to my many foodie-friends discuss all the places they travel to, in order to have Sunday brunch, the light went off. “No one around here does a great brunch” Diners are a dime-a-dozen, and I love them dearly. But the only real Sunday brunch around here, that I could think of anyway, was a huge disappointment the only time I ever went there. Cold food warm, warm food cold, and at least one thing old/going bad. Not cool.
So, we made the decision, knowing how good we would be, to roll the dice– knowing how much it would sting to ask restaurant staff to get up early on Sundays. (Seriously, we do many things well. But, as a rule, we don’t do early. We don’t do Sunday mornings.)
Before writing up a proposed menu, I used FB to ask our bajillion foodie friends “What would you like to see on the menu?” There was good feedback. But the best of all? Lisa T, one of our most beloved friends and avid brunch-road-tripper suggested… “Red Velvet Pancakes.” Fuhgeddaboudit. (That’s New York speak for “Are you kidding me?” Or, “Holy Cow” if you are from New Hampshire!)
I passed the suggestion along to the Chef, who, in my creative mind, raised one eyebrow all John Belushi like, and then did what he does. He got busy. (He never looks busy by the way. It is a remarkable mind that never, ever looks pressed, yet turns out one amazing dish after another!)
“Beet juice” he discovered, makes the original red velvet recipe red, though in our chemically-altered world, most have compromised by being satisfied with red food coloring for their red velvet applications.
Then, not butter for MY chef. Not whipped cream. No. Mascarpone Cheese. I’m not kidding. If butter and whipped cream hooked up and had a fat little baby? Mascarpone Cheese would be it’s name. F’n amazing.
Then, even though I may have whined a little bit “Chef, do you KNOW how expensive real maple syrup is” his response was, naturally… “I don’t give a fuck. We are not serving that shitty, supermarket, flavored corn syrup crap on any pancake we make…ever.” (OK, I am not positive he said those exact words out loud, but, I guaranty that is what he was thinking, eyebrows up)
So, here we are. Red, white, melting, oozing, natural…and I could write all day, and post all day, and buy giant flashing signs RED…VELVET…PANCAKES : RED…VELVET…PANCAKES : RED…VELVET…PANCAKES….but until YOU sit down and sip on a Mimosa for a few minutes, before putting a mouthful of this ridiculous shit in your mouth…
This is no promotion. Come if you want to. It’s a free country. Just sayin’
Leave a Reply