Friday, June 12, 2009
One day my father told us he had a real craving for Panas. It was something his mother used to make during wartime. My mother agreed to make him some. Next day we had a pig's head in the downstairs fridge . It stayed there for a week until my father could cut it into pieces with his blade saw. Once this was done my mother boiled the pieces in all the pots she had in the house. Next, the resulting broth was cooled and the scum was ladled off. It smelled and looked revolting! She then added nutmeg to the broth and mixed it with flour to make pancakes. Anyway,the big day finally came and she served my father the Panas he had been craving. He tasted them, and said they were just like his mother made them, then added "Oh yeah, now I remember how much I hated these when I was a kid." Meanwhile we had a freezer full of them. This enraged my mother so much she served Panas every other meal for weeks until they were all gone. I'd often go to bed hungry just so I wouldn't have to eat them. To this day I can't stomach anything with nutmeg in it!