Live from my house, it's Sunday Night!

When I was growing up, we ate a large meal after church - roast beef with vegetables or maybe spaghetti with Mom's rich meat sauce or occasionally one of those casseroles she found a recipe for in a magazine that might include "surprise" in the name.  And so, the large meal having been eaten at noon, a favorite Sunday night supper consisted of waffles.  Sometimes with bacon or sausage, but often just waffles and syrup.   A big pile of them.

When I was more grown up (i.e., not living at home any more), but still many years ago, I asked for a waffle iron for Christmas one year.  My older brother wondered out loud to my mom what I'd been eating for dinner on Sunday nights all those years!?!  I used it until it wore out.

Last Christmas, my mom gave me one of those fancy Belgian waffle makers, the ones you see at motels that feature breakfast buffets - you pour the cup full of batter in, wait for it to beep, turn it over, and wait for the light to come on to let you know the waffle is ready.  My brother got one, too.  We don't use it a lot, but it's always fun when we do, and it makes the house smell so yummy.  The boys occasionally get it out and make a huge pile of waffles and the kitchen is always sticky for a while afterwards.

Currently, too many people in the family are trying to watch what they eat for us to have regular Sunday night waffle meals.  And in fact, we've never had regular Sunday night waffle meals.  We probably didn't eat them when I was a child nearly as often as I think we did, either.

And so we are having roast chicken.  I am grateful to have a roof over my head and clean water and good food to eat; I am glad we have heat and good health.  But I don't think my kids will look back on Sunday nights and say, boy, wasn't it great that we had chicken so often?