I love my weekends, for so many reasons. When I don’t over plan, my weekends are my own. I get to putter around my house if I choose, dressed in my favorite pajamas and pouring through my cookbooks. I have the time to try something new and then retry it if it doesn’t work the first time. I can read without the guilt of thinking “I really should be getting my gym bag/lunch/clothes ready for tomorrow”. I can play on Facebook for hours because I have no place to go (FYI, “Adventures in Shaw” has its own Facebook site, so feel free to become a fan!). I can pour over the world newspapers, mindlessly munching on a scone or bagel while reading about things outside of the United States. I get my CSA box, which for me is like getting a Christmas present every Saturday morning. I don’t have to answer my work Blackberry, but can chat all night with Liz should I choose on Pinkie Lee. But there is one very special reason my weekends have become so very precious to me…
A few posts back, I very slyly mentioned I met a guy during the Summer…August 9th to be exact. No, I’m not one of those women who immediately run home and write down the date I met a guy. It just so happens I met The Boy at Liz’s engagement party (handy, huh?). He’s funny, geeky and oh so cute and very, very smart. He also happens to live in bumble fuck Egypt Centreville, Maryland. So on the weekends The Boy comes to DC and we get to be together. As sickeningly gooey as this will sound, he has managed to become one of my favorite people. And outside of my family, he is one of the few people I feel safe enough to be completely myself around.
He drives me to pick up my CSA box without complaint (well, we both often yell at the idiotic drivers impeding our progress); didn’t even grumble when I spent almost an hour at the Banana Republic outlet store; introduces me to amazing films I may never have known about otherwise; went with me to a rally I support with my whole heart and didn’t even flinch when it poured down rain (FYI, it’s a cause he also supports); actually reads…and doesn’t bitch when I choose to read on the couch when he’s over; loves tea as much as I do (I introduced him to the world of loose teas and I think I’ve created a tea snob); reminds me it’s okay to relax and just because I can’t find Redskins cupcake decorations, Liz will still love her birthday cupcakes; doesn’t snore when he sleeps (a huge problem in every one of my previous relationships); is one of the funniest people I know (and that’s saying a lot because I am very easily amused and laugh at pretty much anything); truly appreciates the humor that is the Golden Girls and doesn’t mind the fact that I watch them every night while drifting off to sleep; wears a Fedora and looks cool doing it; waits patiently while I photograph food, even when he’s hungry (like now); and as long as I cook, he washes the dishes (and is a damn fine dishwasher loader too). All this to say, on an early Sunday morning, while he is still asleep, in my very quiet apartment, I realize I am one lucky girl. And these pancakes are my ode to The Boy…because he loves apples.
Apple Ricotta Pancakes
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
2 tsp sugar
pinch of salt
3/4 cup milk
9 ounces ricotta cheese
1 large apple (any variety – I had honey crisps in my CSA box), diced
Sift together the flour, baking powder, sugar and salt into a large bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk and ricotta cheese. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and whisk together until there are no more lumps. Fold in the diced apples and set the batter aside.
Either spray a frying pan or griddle with Pam or melt a tablespoon of butter in the pan. Pour out enough batter to make a small or medium sized pancake and watch until bubbles form in the batter. Then gently flip the pancake and allow to brown on the other side for about 2 more minutes. Transfer the finished pancake to a plate and repeat the steps with the remaining batter.
Oh and if we break up, this post is totally getting deleted. Happy Sunday!