Ode to Aunt Carol

My childhood as I recall it, was pretty good. That seems like kind of a lame way to sum it up, but it fits. There were outstanding moments, of course, not a few of them. One of my most favorite things to do was go down to California to our cousins' house in Lake County. We took countless road trips down there, and I even have good memories of the time spent in the backseat with my sister reading books and bugging each other and singing our hearts out to the latest country ballads (remember Ronnie Milsap anyone?). At the end of this travel rainbow was the pot of gold on Scott's Valley Road. We would burst out of the car and run in and find our prospective favorite people who lived in the house surrounded by pear trees. The door we entered in by lead into the kitchen, which was (and probably still is) bright and cheery. There was a huge white table with sparkly parts in the finish and a built-in bench that wrapped around a corner, a green pear clock, pear wallpaper and a chalkboard with all of the important phone numbers. I would head straight for the back bedroom, inhabited by my cousin and co-trouble maker, Edward. We'd reunite and immediately head outside for some exploring. His room had a certain smell, green carpet and some dark wood panelling with neat smooth lines that I liked to trace with my finger. I would re-read the same old comic books from his collection, play with his toys (Stretch Armstrong, Evil Kenevil, the Hulk and a little minature video game console that was the bee's knees) and revel in being in that magical place again. In the morning, we'd awake to a very important smell: waffles. These were no ordinary waffles. They were our aunt Carol's sourdough waffles, and they were out of this world. The smell tempted us out of our warm covers and we'd come into the kitchen (the floor of which is mopped EVERY night, I kid you not-how did she manage it with a farm and 5 kids??) and there would be the waffle iron, steaming away, producing four waffles at a time which she would fold and tear apart and then we'd dig in. Our cousins were less enamoured by these squares of joy so we'd usually gorge ourselves on them unabashedly. The batter was partially prepared the night before to allow the starter to work it's magic in a heavy large mixing bowl, slightly yellow or green in color...my mind isn't sure about that detail anymore. Anyway, I ramble. So I have a thing about sourdough waffles as well as pears. Living in Europe presents many strange and wonderous differences, we try to substitute for things that are not readily available, and for the most part we succeed. Waffles, in particular Belgian waffles, seem to be a common term but it's not so easy to find a waffle-maker with deep enough holes to actually see your melted butter pool in. A few years ago, Con and Heidi brought me some of Aunt Carol's sour-dough starter. As you can surely understand, this precious substance was recieved into my household with joy and carefully fed and pampered. My quest for a good waffle maker has finally ended too. I recently found one that makes a double waffle, half the size of my Aunt's original four. It works great and I tried a few recipies before mixing up the sourdough waffle mix according to the Scott's Valley Rd recipe. It was almost like I was avoiding making it in fear that it wouldn't taste like I remembered, and shatter my perfect memories. I nervously awaited light to go on and then lifted the lid. Then I grabbed a fork and lifted it out for a first tentative olfactory experiment. Smell was right, now for taste. As I bit in, that tangy crispy chewy combo just about had me literally transported back in time to when I was 8 years old. I did it! I reproduced something that I had long been wanting to attempt. As the kids came trickling down the stairs, lured out of their beds by that time-old savor, I played with sweet memories of my past shared with family. Ode to you Aunt Carol, to who you were, to who you are, and what you have meant to me over the years. You might not have thought that little blond tomboy was paying attention to so much love being served on a plate...but you were mistaken. I was soaking it up like syrup on a waffle......