Bite of Heaven in a Pancake

Dennis and I are sitting in Sawyer’s Gourmet Pancake House after church. I’ve wanted to come here since I first read about it a couple of years ago, but we never remember to go.

A “natural and organic family restaurant” that serves “great food, not fast food.” There’s a sign that says everything is made from scratch and made to order, that it might take up to 25 minutes to be served.

Be. Patient.

I’m overwhelmed by the menu. Dennis orders a tomato, fresh basil, and Monterey Jack cheese omelet with euro-grain toast and a side of homemade peach jam that has the consistency of honey.

I must have pancakes. After all, it’s a pancake house. I finally settle on a short stack of the tropical cakes. Buttermilk pancakes (made with 100% organic flour) stuffed with bananas and mangos, sprinkled with toasted coconut, topped with a dollop of lime whipped cream, and served with a side of warm orange syrup.

I didn’t expect the place to be so . . . cozy. We are at a table for two bumping elbows with the table-for-two customers next to us, a law student and his date. We listen to him describe one of his professors who teaches wills and says she doesn’t know anything about wills.

I think there were only seven or eight (red, I think) booths lining the walls and a handful of tables. I’m fascinated by the wavy aluminum ceiling and walls filled with local artist’s original paintings and photos. I note the half curtains at the windows stamped with chickens. I finger packets of raw sugar and comment on how brownish the organic catsup is. I wonder if Gracee would even taste it. I wonder if Gracee would have the patience to wait.

The little brown-haired girl in the booth in front of me is so excited to get her meal–what looks like chocolate chip pancakes. She smothers them with her little silver pot of syrup. I note later that she barely ate any.

The restrooms are down a short hall to my right, and I note bright red walls when the men’s door opens. At least I think they are red. I should check out the ladies room, but I don’t.

How. Much. Longer.

The people behind me are served. They came in right after us. We should be next.

And we are.

And I wish I’d gotten a full stack as I savor the first bite of heaven.

Celebrating  On, In, and Around Mondays with L.L. Barkat at Seedlings in Stone.