My dad was away last week and I thought it would be nice for my mom and I to spend some time together, so we went to a well-known breakfast joint. Why not have someone else do the cooking, clear the table and wash the dishes? A good idea, in theory. The actual breakfast and service left a lot to be desired. I ordered my favourite: blueberry pancakes, while my mom ordered an omelet. It took the kitchen nearly 25 minutes to complete the order and when the food arrived, it wasn’t good. You know how some people make jokes about burning toast. Well, the toast wasn’t burnt but it was rock hard, and my pancakes were cold and somehow hard on the edges and soft in the middle. I couldn’t figure that one out. If a breakfast place can’t make pancakes or toast properly, they’re in big trouble. The lady the restaurant is named after would not be happy to know one of her franchises wasn’t even able to make toast or pancakes properly. Oh c’est la vie, I guess. Oops, I might have said too much. In any case, I decided to make breakfast at my house this weekend. Except… I was out of white flour.