On buckwheat

I’ve been told that I loved my grandma’s buckwheat pancakes, when I was a little girl, but I’ve never known how to interpret that. Did I truly love them? Or was it just Grandma’s perception that I loved them? Or did I think they were fine, because the alternatives were so much worse?

You see, my Grandma Nonny (Nona) was a terrible cook. Everything she made came out tasting (to me) like fried bear meat, and yes, I do know what badly cooked bear tastes like, thanks to her. One evening she was going to babysit me and my sister, and my mom made up an elaborate pizza in advance, to forestall our objections to her cooking... well, before serving it, Grandma coated that pizza with chili powder, because she was sure she’d seen my mom do that. Yup.

So, my only exposure to buckwheat being those legendary pancakes of Grandma’s, I’ve avoided it for years. Until tonight. I mixed up all the buckwheat flour I’d bought during my gluten-free experiment with a bit of wheat (since I didn’t have a full cup), and I made myself a couple of pancakes. I’d have to say, they were completely innocuous. Nothing special, nothing noteworthy at all, except for their slightly speckled and dark appearance.

So, there we have it, chalk one up for Grandma.