There is an art to living with another human. It is a delicate dance of neuroses. A safari of previously hidden late night eating habits, secret cigarette stashes, and video games, exhumed. The migration of two people into one space inevitably unearths certain questions.
How many bottles of mezcal can be comfortably housed in one 500-square-foot apartment?
Does one find the practice of yoga in the living room charming or repulsive?
Is it acceptable to leave a trail of breadcrumbs in the jar of mayonnaise? (It is not.)
Can a meal of beer or ladyfingers or cheese be consumed for dinner without judgment?
Must one wear pants while doing so?
Where does our loose change go? Does it get combined into a repurposed tin? Become stacked side by side in arranged identical piles? Get tossed in the trash to avoid the discussion altogether?
The answers to such questions—minus the mayo contamination, which is unforgivable—are a barometer of insanity. Best to know if your lunacy matches up before buying bed frames together.
All this to say Brett officially moved in today. (!) While we don’t have all our personal peccadillos unpacked just yet, we typically agree on matters that matter. And we are a solid match when it comes to breakfast.
So waffles are a safe bet.
We have a semi-regular weekend routine wherein Brett cooks the softest scrambled eggs in the slowest and loveliest of ways with the care and craft one might take to build a bird’s nest. If we have cheddar cheese on hand, shreds of it get swirled into the eggs during their final moments in the pan.
Meanwhile, I press three waffles using batter prepped the previous night. The first waffle always sticks a bit—which typically causes cursing as I prod it out of the iron using a fork, with the patience of a kindergartener. (Ample greasing and preheating usually prevents this problem.)
If we are feeling fancy there is also bacon or hollandaise to be had, or maple syrup if I am too fragile or tired to deal with egg yolks or pork grease.
The waffles puff up like Belgians, offering crispy exteriors and fluffy insides with a slight tang. Like most things worth waiting for they require some forethought and, unfortunately, some sourdough starter—which necessitates tracking down a human that has some. Or, perhaps, make your own.
It is worth it. These are waffles of finest quality. And they are highly unlikely to cause any cohabitation conflicts. Unless it is about who gets the last one.
- 1 cup (200 grams) sourdough starter (not fed)
- ½ cup (55 grams) all-purpose flour
- ½ cup (60 grams) whole wheat flour
- 1 cup whole milk
- 1 tbsp sugar
- 1 egg
- ¼ tsp salt
- ½ tsp baking soda
- 2 tbsp olive or canola oil