Sunday Waffles

Sunday.  Holy day.  Game day.  

Sunday's are the best.  They generally go something like this:  wake up early-ish without an alarm, gym time, slow linger over coffee, churches, out of our Sunday best and into sweats for brunch and ball, weekly Sunday supper.  If it's nice out, squeeze in an afternoon walk between meals.  Weekending at it's slowest, most lovely.

We run the rat race so hard all week long.  When you're freelance it's hard to set down the hustle for any period of time.  There's always more you could be doing.  Something you could be working on.  For a long time periods of rest seemed to give me nothing but anxiety.  I'm beginning to see though that true rest actually offers it's own kind of productivity.  I'm a type A introvert.  One of my best friends is the opposite.  On certain days we're a match made in hell.  But I've learned a lot from her in terms of what it means to hold people higher than my to-do list.  And that even if you're physically present with someone, it's pretty easy for them to tell if you've got ten other things mulling around in your head.  Even if you're looking them square in the face.  Actually, maybe especially if.  

All that to say, Sundays.  Fall Sundays.  Because sometimes the most advantageous thing you can do for your work is to let it rest.  No pictures, no planning, no prepping.  Just for a day.  But cooking.  Always cooking.  I'm making a conscious effort to put that into play because we've got a pretty sweet weekend ritual that deserves showing up to in its entirety.  And checking out in a whole different way.  I feel like the sweetest form of company you can keep is that in which you don't even particularly have to say a lot while you're together.   Last weekend there were friends draped over every corner of my apartment.  Some on the floor.  All in comfies.  Tea cups and magazines scattered about. One napping on the couch in a food-induced coma after crispy bacon and stacks on stacks of cornmeal waffles made with nutty, sweet browned butter.

I'll be real.  It's less about watching the game than it is about lounging with the sound of it on in the background.  A throwback to simpler non-adult times for all of us when our dad's would watch one game after another on the weekends.  We missed the bulk of the season last year.  Life was just so busy.  What we probably needed more than anything during that time was to keep with a ritual like this.  

Our go-to game has always been grilled cheese and tomato soup.  Apparently all efforts really were toward forgetting entirely that we are grown-ups and instead indulging our inner 9-year-old selves.  This past weekend I didn't have the chance to get to the store in between church and brunch so I had to get creative with what I had on hand.  Flour, butter, eggs, milk.  Few things feed a crowd like waffles.  Except maybe pancakes.  Why is it never a waffle feed? 

Anyway, here we are.  A new recipe to add to the repertoire for forever going forward that speaks to a particular kind of Sunday vibe.  One that invites you to linger for a long time at the table before retiring to the couch for catnaps and mindless chatter about life and nothing in particular.  It's inspired by one from the Huckleberry Bakery cookbook with a few modifications to make it my own.   Thinking back now I wish I would've had some creme fraiche on hand.  Now even looking at the pictures they're just begging for giant dollop of it, aren't they?  You can say it.  It would have elevated them to a whole 'nother level.  Please serve yours with creme fraiche.  Here's to your upcoming weekend.   To R&R.  And to rituals that foster what's actually worth investing in.   Like brunching hard in our homes together when there's a hundred Sunday hot spots with 2 hour waits within walking distance.   This is how we live small town life in a big city.


Sunday Waffles with Blackberry Agave Syrup

Beurre Noisette is the fancy french term for butter that has been melted and cooked until it's toasty and sweet.  It makes these waffles extra decadent but if you want to cut out a step you can substitute olive oil in it's place.   For a little protein boost here try folding one cup of cooked quinoa into the batter.  


Melt the butter in a small saucepan over medium heat.  It will start to crackle and pop as it browns and quiet down once it's ready.  It should smell nutty and toasted with brown bits swirling at the bottom.  Take care not to let it burn which can happen quickly.  Scrape into a bowl and set aside to cool slightly while you make the syrup.

To the same small saucepan add the blackberries and 2 tablespoons of water.  Cook over medium heat smashing them with a fork to break them down.  Once you've got a chunky sauce on your hands you can either strain it and return it to the pan (which I kinda prefer) or proceed with seeds in it.  Stir in the agave, lemon juice, and salt.  In a small bowl whisk the potato starch with 2 teaspoons of water.  Whisk the potato starch mixture into the syrup and return to medium heat for 1-2 minutes, stirring until slightly thickened.

Preheat your waffle iron to medium-high.

In a medium bowl whisk together the flour blend, cornmeal, baking soda and powder, salt, psyllium, and cinnamon.  In another whisk together the coconut milk, browned butter or olive oil, agave, egg, and vanilla.  Add the wet ingredients to the dry and whisk to combine.  At this point you can add the quinoa if you like.  The batter will be thin.

Use a 1/4 cup measure to add batter to the waffle iron.  Cook until golden brown and crisp adjusting the temperature if necessary.  Serve immediately.  


1/3 cup unsalted butter
1 1/2 cups All Else gf flour blend
1/2 cup cornmeal
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons sea salt
1 teaspoon ground psyllium husk
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 1/2 cups coconut milk, at room temperature
1/4 cup agave
2 eggs at room temperature
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Blackberry Agave Syrup

12 ounces blackberries, fresh or frozen
1/4 cup agave syrup
Juice from half a lemon
1/4 teaspoon sea salt
1/4 teaspoon potato starch