When I was 11, my baby brother was born. I had spent my whole, long life as an only child and I WAS FINE WITH THAT. I had already, the previous year, suffered the indignity of a stepfather- a weird, Dutch, Kasha eating, marathon running, Russian dissident hosting nightmare-and my pre-adolescent self took to my metaphorical bed for months in response to all the upheaval that was happening around me. But then, you see, there was this baby, and I was pretty gone over him.
My parents both worked full-time, and although baby brother was cared for by a host of reliable parties, much of the time he was mine. And we loved each other- he called me Sister Wisabis (I was so sad when his speech therapist "fixed" this), I called him Drooper, and we were each other's. Years past, we lived in different countries, and later just plain different worlds, and then, well, he grew up. He grew up so much, even, that he joined the Marines, and last month he deployed to Iraq. He is in a relatively safe place, and he will BE FINE, but I am now scared for him a lot of the time.
Every Christmas, and sometimes just because, my mum made Dutch Babies, and although they are devoid of all nutrutional content, I think they are a near perfect food. Growing up, I had them as a brunch food, but lately I have been using them with salads and soups (yes, I know it's summer, but there's always room for soup).
Dutch Babies
4 eggs
1 tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup flour or a gluten-free flour mix (which I've been doing and, surprisingly, it works just fine)
2/3 cup milk, 2% is what I'm using but I suppose anything is perfectly OK
2 tablespoons soft butter
Preheat oven to 400°F.
Butter or spray two 9-inch cake pans.
Mix everything together; don't worry about the order.
Bake for 20 minutes, then reduce heat to 350°F and bake 10 minutes.
Serve from the pan or put on a serving platter.
Also, it turned out the crazy Dutchman has his charms.
