Say It With Waffles

Fun Fact #1: I own a heart-shaped waffle iron.

Fun Fact #2: The aforementioned waffle iron does not have an ON switch. You just plug it in and it starts getting hot pretty much instantly. 

Fun Fact #3: I didn't know this.

I'm sure you know what happened next.

But, you know what they say, dear reader?

LOVE HURTS.

And I have the burn to prove it.

HOWEVER. All worth it in the pursuit of a Valentine's Treat for Mum and for my Lovely Librarians that wasn't chocolate, overly sweet, or in any way candy heart / teddy bear / red rose related. Because I've been seeing those Russel Stover heart shaped chocolate boxes in the grocery store since December, and enough is enough already.

Personally, I'll take these over a "Romantic Truffle Selection" any day.

But how to show my love in a way that wasn't cluttered with commercial detritus and cheap, mainstream trappings?

Well. Waffles seemed like as good a place as any to start.

This is my Dad's waffle iron. There were many, many happy mornings where I would drown these suckers in maple syrup and eat until I couldn't move (which, my stomach capacity at 10, a disturbing amount of waffles). I actually preferred these to Swedish pancakes, if truth be told. And since we're putting it all out there, this was viewed as a moral failing on my part, and generated a significant amount of mockery and scorn.

I'm just saying, my childhood was a judgmental minefield.

My grandmother made Belgian waffles, the kind with egg-whites folded in. THAT, incidentally, is how I learned to fold egg-whites into liquid batter with a spatula (you learn pretty damn fast when your grandmother smacks the back of your wrist every time you stir instead of fold). I also learned that although whipped egg-whites LOOK like whipped cream, they are NOT WHIPPED CREAM. And if you lick enough raw egg-whites off the beaters, you will get sick.

Trial and error, dear reader, trial and error.



Because a Belgian waffle iron is deeper than a heart shaped one, I didn't so much drown them in syrup as fill every hole to the brim with an equal-to-the-millimetre amount.*

*OCD rears its waffle-eating head

I have to say, the Hearts were always my favourite. The Belgians were great, but in my memory they were always a bit too dry (and under a gallon of syrup, that's saying something). I think that the Heart's lack of egg-whites gave them that density, that richness, that I loved. Yes, they were thinner, but the taste was so much more intense, the bite so much more satisfying. They were dense without being heavy, rich and buttery without being overwhelming; they were fluffy without being powdery, light without being insubstantial.

It was the sweet spot of waffles for me, is what I'm trying to say. Plus, DUH, they were shaped like hearts. Did I NEED another reason?


I decided that rather than something chocolate, or sugar and pink icing based, I would do something slightly unusual that still conveyed that I LOVE YOU message. Also something that could be breakfast OR an afternoon snack OR a dessert.

Equal-opportunity-affection-based-baked-goods. That was the goal here.

VALENTINE'S WAFFLES FOR THOSE I LOVE

Of course I used my Dad's recipe. Origins unknown, written in his good-little-Catholic-school-boy-cursive on a 5x7 index card spattered with batter in the wooden box on the counter. Right between Swedish Pancakes and, for some strange reason, Lobster Thermidor. I'm not throwing it one out to the interwebs ether (ha, for the 12 people that might see it, right?) so if you want it, hit me up. Certain things should be shared in private, I feel.

Rest assured, it's your classic waffle.

A lot of butter. 

Only a tablespoon of sugar, though.
We Yankees don't want to get TOO wild and crazy at breakfast. 

The one addition I made this time, in an effort to make them more "snack" than "breakfast food" was this:

I knew I was going to dust them with powdered sugar, and my idea was that a small kick of almond would go along nicely, and also pave the way towards widening their "time of day enjoyment window". (Mum seems to approve, LL's, you will have to let me know.) It's always a crap shoot with these extract experimentations, though, because you either don't add enough and there's no discernible difference and you're all BUT I ADDED EXTRACT or you don't realise how strong it is and you take a bite and you're all WELL NOW MY HEAD HAS TURNED INTO AN ALMOND THANKS FOR THAT.

So. Slightly nervous going in.

Deep breath, Beetle. 

After realising a bit too late that the waffle iron had been heating up for 15 minutes BEFORE I grabbed it with my bare hands, flinging it across the counter screaming, terrifying the cats, cleaning up, applying bandaids and ice, and aplogising to the cats for a good half hour, I was, once again, ready to go.

Once they cooled down and crisped up, I broke them into singles, figuring I was probably the only person who could house SEVERAL SHEETS OF HEARTS in one sitting, and that "one waffle" probably, in normal people speak, meant, um, one waffle. (Personally, I don't get it, but I bow to convention.)

I left the batter edges and side-drips on, because I liked how they looked that way. You know, like snowflakes. EVERY WAFFLE IS UNIQUE.

Mum had hers for dessert AND breakfast, spread with first Raspberry jam (for dessert) and then with Lingonberry jam (for breakfast). She also came home later in the day and went OMG IT SMELLS LIKE WAFFLES! Which was happy. 

For the LL's, I took a topping cue from the STORM FORCE BLIZZARD that was happening outside: 

And I can report that Mum is on her way with these right now. So I hope they find you filled to the brim with love and cuddles for your, um, library patrons . . . ? No. Um . . . me . . . ? YES THAT'S BETTER. 

I mean, filled to the brim, but with room enough for waffles. 

There should always be room for waffles.