Chapter 134: Pancakes in Albuquerque

Tuesday, June 15, 1971

If this was Tuesday, it must be Albuquerque. The sun was shining and it looked like another hot day, but at over 5,000 feet in elevation, it was nowhere near as muggy as Houston had been. The ATSF yard was bustling with activity all around us. I felt like we were on an island in the midst of a choppy sea as I scanned for any signs of danger. Everything was clear.

The Dining Car was empty so I started the coffee brewing in the galley as I rummaged around for something to eat. It took me a while to figure out Karla’s system and how the stove in the galley worked. But once I did, it went pretty smoothly and soon I was seated in a booth with my bacon and eggs and toast. It was a simple meal. I only fried four eggs to go with the half-pound of bacon and six slices of toast. Nevertheless, it was filling. I finished off the half-full (half-empty?) quart bottle of orange juice that I had found in the small cooler and returned my dishes to the galley to start another pot of coffee.

I stacked my dirty dishes, along with the skillet in the sink and wiped up the best I could. While I was a pretty good cook, I had an ingrained hatred of cleaning up after myself. In my last life, I could never do it well enough to suit her, so after years of being constantly berated, no matter how hard I tried, I gave up. One day, I decided I would never try again. And I didn’t.

“Looks like one of my bad habits has carried over into this life,” I thought. “I hope Karla won’t be too mad.”

I resumed my seat in the booth with the first cup of the second pot of the morning, when the guilt became overpowering. So I made my way back to the galley and began to wash my dirty dishes.

Catherine arrived just ahead of Karla, as I was drying the skillet. Karla mumbled her good morning as I handed her a cup of coffee. Catherine said, “I thought I smelled coffee. Do you have any tea, Michael?”

I quickly fixed her a cup of tea and carried it to the booth where she and Karla were sitting. Then with a second trip, I brought them both a glass of juice from the new bottle I had opened.

“Who’s up for some of my special buttermilk pancakes?” I asked.

“Let me finish this cup of coffee,” Karla said, “and I’ll get some started. I’ll have to find the recipe first.”

“You just stay right where you are. Today is payday at Wagner Industries, and in lieu of your paycheck, I thought I’d just fix your breakfast instead!” I teased.

“Wait a minute! Is that legal?” she asked, still not awake.

“I’m sorry, Karla. I was teasing you, but I should have waited until you were more awake. It kinda lost something there. Seriously, it is payday, and you will be paid, but I want you to try my pancakes anyway. After all, I do own the company, and you haven’t been paid yet. So I hope you WILL like them!” I teased her again.

Karla sat her coffee cup down, and reached inside her robe.

“That’s true. Just remember who carries her gun to breakfast,” she teased me right back, opening her robe enough for me to see her t-shirt and shoulder harness, along with the butt of a good-sized revolver sticking out of it.

“YOU WIN!” I laughed. “However, shooting the cook, just because you don’t like his pancakes, is definitely against company policy!”

I got busy in the kitchen, frying up some bacon and sausage as I began to put the ingredients together for my special buttermilk pancakes.

4 Tablespoons of Sugar

2 Tablespoons of Vegetable Oil

2 Eggs

1 cup of Buttermilk

1 cup of Milk

2 ¼ cups of Self-Rising Flour

1 teaspoon of Vanilla Extract

I was sorry that we didn’t have any blueberries. A cup of fresh blueberries makes the pancakes even better. I mixed all the ingredients together, and found a spatula. Then removing the last of the bacon from the pan, I switched my attention to the griddle. Now the secret to good pancakes is to cook them quick, only turning them one time. That means the griddle has to be hot. About 400 degrees or so. Anything less makes them rubbery and dried out.

Now Grandma Brown always checked her griddle by dropping two or three drops of water on it and watching them sizzle away. But I’m a guy, so I just checked it the macho way. With my hand.

No. I didn’t touch it, I just put it about an inch away, and if it’s too hot to leave my hand there more than a couple of seconds, it’s ready.

Using a quarter cup measuring cup, I spooned the batter onto the grill. It makes the pancakes a perfect size. As soon as I saw the bubbles begin to appear, I lifted the corner of one. It was golden brown, so I flipped them and pulled out two plates, and some butter and maple syrup. I didn’t recognize the brand, but it said ‘from Vermont’ on the label, so I guessed it would have to do. Damn Yankee syrup. I’d make sure that I got me some good cane syrup stocked on board when we got back to Tennessee.

I loaded the pancakes on two plates, and carried everything to their table. I had to make a second trip to get the butter and syrup and applesauce to go with them.

“We could use some utensils, Michael,” Catherine reminded me. So I hurried back for a third trip.

“This waiting on tables is tough work!” I thought to myself as I finally slid in beside them with my own cup of coffee. I wasn’t that hungry because of my earlier breakfast, so I thought I’d just talk to them while they ate.

Karla was surprised. “These are really good, Michael. Where did you learn to cook pancakes like this?” she asked. Without thinking I replied, “From my grandmother,” I said with pride.

“Well, Catherine, you did a great job teaching him,” she told Catherine.

Two little problems. One, Karla was one of the few people on the train, who had not been told yet of my past. And two, I had forgotten that fact.

“I’m afraid it was his other grandmother who taught him this,” she told Karla. “And you’re right. She did a great job. They’re delicious!”

Fortunately, Karla didn’t press the issue, but instead, went off once more on how delicious they were.

“You’ll have to write down the recipe for me. They’re not too difficult to make, are they?”

“Nah. They’re so easy, it’s almost embarrassing,” I told her.

Kip was next to arrive, and Karla gushed over my pancakes so much I had to go back to the galley and made a second batch for her brother. Over the next half hour, most of the girls came in, still in their pajamas.

When the yard supervisor knocked on the door at one point, I called to Kip to handle it since he was the only one dressed besides me. You can guess how I spent my morning. By the time I got everyone fed, I had gone through both quarts of buttermilk and all the syrup on the train. But everyone seemed to like them, considering how many came back for seconds. Karla saved my butt from having to wash dishes a second time as she worked beside me cleaning up while I cooked.

Finally, grabbing the last cup of coffee so Karla could wash the pot, I wearily made my way to a booth and sat down. The applause was deafening! Well, maybe just really loud, but they all congratulated me and began asking what was for lunch.

“Real Mexican,” I told them. “You’ll love it!”

“You know how to cook Mexican style foods?” Jessica asked.

“Well, not really. I can’t even pronounce most of them, and I only know two phrases in Spanish, ‘Si por favor’ meaning ‘yes, please’. And ‘Más por favor’ which means ‘more, please’,” I told them.