JOHNNY CAKE SWAG

Hubpages has become the vehicle of expression for my inner foodie! This is my third article about my favorite past time: eating!

I have loved to eat from the moment that I was able to gnaw on solid food. I had the good fortune of being raised by a family of exceptional cooks. Some of my best remembrances of my early years were in the kitchen with my great aunt and my mother. As an adult, when I visited my mother, she was almost always in the kitchen cooking. As soon as I walked in her door she would offer me something to eat or would be willing to prepare something for me even if she was in the middle of consuming a meal!

As a young child, while my older brother was away at school, my mother would lavish me with her attention and her wonderful food. She had a repertoire of breakfast meals that no other chef or restaurant has rivaled to this day. My mother prepared soft scrambled eggs with lots of butter, creamy grits that warmed my insides, perfect biscuits made from scratch with homemade peach preserves and delicate pancakes with lots of Alaga syrup.

One winter morning, Captain Kangaroo (or it might have been Mister Green Jeans) narrated an English tale about the mischievous Johnny-cake that refused to be consumed by its maker and her family. After the show was over, at my urging, my mother decided to make a Johnny-cake for me! I sat at the kitchen table in fat-boy anticipation, as she prepared my Johnny-cake but alas, as in the fable, my joy turned to exasperation. My mother, ever the perfectionist in the kitchen, unhappy with the finished product, which fell apart as she removed it from the pan, refused to let me devour it! My Johnny-cake was tossed in the trash!

I can remember one or two instances, during my childhood, when my mother created what I considered to be a disappointing meal. My Johnny-cake and a rack of lamb one Easter Sunday are the only dishes that come to mind. I have since discovered middle eastern cuisine and have gotten over the trauma of eating badlegoflamb. My quest for the elusive Johnny-cake did not come to fruition until this Mother's Day morn.

For years, I have tried to emulate my mother's skills in front of the open flame. A psychoanalyst could have a Freudian field day with the fact that I have tried over the years to perfect dishes that she never cared for like meatballs with spaghetti, deep fried beer battered Cod, the ill fated Johnny-cake or that I have lusted after dishes that my neighbors introduced me to like strawberry cobbler and coleslaw. My Negro-Nese Cuisineis a byproduct of my quest to be as proficient a cook as my mother. My interest in Asian cuisine came from my father's side of the family but my desire to be a good cook is deeply rooted in my southern heritage. My mother, maternal great aunt and grandmother were exceptional cooks who created what I have come to recognize as "food of love".

I began experimenting with cornmeal pancakes, back in the day, when I lived in a small farming community in rural southwestern Michigan. Jiffy brand cornmeal mix was a rarity in my mother's kitchen, because of her dedication to made from scratch meals. I however, had not perfected the art of making cornbread, at a point in time, so Jiffy cornmeal mix was a staple in my pantry. Branch County Michigan produced much of the corn and wheat sold to Chelsea Milling Company and Ralston Purina, so Jiffy, as well as every other corn product imaginable was readily available at the local markets. I was going through my Robert Atkins phase of physical reinvention, during that time in my life, so I typically had my Jiffy fix on weekends. While trying to make hot water cornbread with Jiffy mix, one weekend, I discovered cornmeal pancakes.

Cornmeal pancakes have been part of my limited culinary repertoire, since those days in the country. Struggling with my inner fat-boy has taught me to focus on the quality of what I consume, so I'm always trying to improve the food I prepare. I have spent years trying to prepare restaurant quality meals. Avoiding fast food and cooking each day has helped me to control my consumption of food and has thwarted my desire to overeat. It took me years to understand why my mother was not hungry by the time she finished Sunday dinner or a holiday feast. I finally get it but if you don't know by now telle est la vie cochon!

These days, in my ongoing quest to rejuvenate my body, I'm in month four of a Nutrisystem regimen. I've lost a great deal of weight but my dedication to the program is waning. For the first time in my life, I lay in bed, fantasizing about what I'm going to have for breakfast. I decided about 4 a.m. this morning that I would have blueberry pancakes. When I rolled out of bed, I watched the last 30 minutes or so of Sunday Morning, wrote a brief tribute to my favorite mothers on Facebook, while listening to Face The Nation, then fired up the stove. Instead of opening a packet of Nutrisystem pancake mix, an ignoredformonths box of Jiffy cornmeal mix, hidden behind a giant sack of whole wheat flour, whispered plaintively from the cupboard: "USE ME INSTEAD, DADDEE!"

I decided in an instant to get back on the Nutrisystem bike this coming Monday. I dumped the contents of the Jiffy cornmeal mix into a bowl and added a handful of Bisquick so it wouldn't be jealous. I reasoned that the Bisquick would hold onto the berries more firmly than the cornmeal mix. I added 2 ounces of plain yogurt, a large egg, a splash of milk; mixed the ingredients thoroughly before adding the blueberries and poured the concoction into the pre-heated non-stick skillet that I bought during my last visit to IKEA. While the cake was browning in the pan, I poured some sugar free blueberry flavored syrup into a Pyrex cup, dropped in a 6 or 7 blueberries and nuked it for 60 seconds.

When I shoved the first forkful of the Jiffy/Bisquick/yogurt blueberry pancake into my mouth, I had an epiphany! After decades of yearning, I had created my own version of the fabled Johnny-cake! I decided to write this article. I even contemplated creating another pancake in order to do a photo shoot. I deferred because it would have forced me to eat it!

While writing this article, I believe my mother - who refused to give this man-child instruction on how to cook - was smiling down at me. I was always in the kitchen with her and studied her every move, so I learned to cook via the empirical method. I also know that my culinary hero Emeril Lagasse would be proud of the fact that I incorporated his classic techniques that I gleaned by watching him nightly for well over a decade. The late visionary Dr. Robert Atkins would be happy that I practiced restraint and only made one cake.

As I'm editing this article, I'm preparing kale inspired by Lidia Bastianich for the first time. My new physician wants me to add iron rich fruits and vegetables to my diet. Eating in a healthy way can have its rewards but the path is narrow.

I think you might like my version of Johnny-cake but please exercise restraint. J Paul Ghetto-cake might become addicting. Let me know if it pleases you.