Handfelt Hotcake Showdown: Made from Scratch Edition - Up in Your Griddle!

For the uninitiated, there was once an Internet phenomenon that was on par with Rick Rolling and Facebook in terms of popularity. That's right, The Handfelt Hotcake Showdown.

Boxed pancake mixes from near and far would come to compete in the Handfelt Hacienda for the title of "Pancake President". A lot of batter, sweat and carbs went into the competition, but when the flour dust settled, one woman, clad in a do-rag and a smile emerged victorious. That's right, Auntie J.

Now we've exhausted all of the different pancake mixes and it's time to move on. Well, not really, but we can't allow ourselves to buy any more boxes until we get rid of the remaining five left in the pantry.

Yet that doesn't mean that we can't whip up some made from scratch recipes and get this party started all over again.

This time around, we'll just be sampling one recipe at a time, judging each on it's own merits. There will also be the occasional guest judge who will weigh in on the proceedings with the gravity of a Supreme Court ruling. Also, we'll be taking submissions from our loyal reader(s). Got a good one? Send it to me at benhandfelt@gmail.com and prepare to be judged.

First up is one of our tried and true faves, the "secret IHOP recipe." I can't remember where I found this. It may have been in the depths of my previous pancake research or someone may have sent it to me. Who can be sure? (And quite frankly, who cares?)

IHOP Recipe

1 1/4 cups flour
1 egg
1 1/4 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup sugar (I usually use a little more)
1 heaping tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/4 cup oil
pinch of salt

Preheat a non-stick griddle over medium heat. For God's sakes, spring for this one. In a blender, combine all the ingredients until smooth. Ladle this gooey goodness onto the skillet. Make your own sound effects. When the edges appear to harden after a minute of two, flip those things like you flip off some d-bag that cut you off in the carpool lane. Cook for another minute or there abouts. Enjoy with butter, syrup and fresh berries.

The Results

The bar has been set dangerously high early in the game. These pancakes are fluffy, sugary (they don't even really require syrup) and as moist as cool spring morning. You may consider IHOP to be beneath you, but you sir, are a pompous fool. They didn't go "International" for nothing. These pancakes aren't to be trifled with and are best served warm, like my sass.

Final Score: 9 dollops out of 10

Liam's First Birthday

Last Saturday marked the first of Lily's underage forays into a bar to celebrate the birthday of her older, hairier boyfriend. Thankfully, this time around the shots were filled with frosting and weren't done off anyone's exposed navel.

We headed down to Sopo Lounge, where the entire second floor was decked out in Elmo paraphernalia...and here I thought that Lily had made a wholly original choice to christen Elmo as her first obsession. Lily ran around playing hard to get while her parents nibbled on chicken satay skewers and macaroni and cheese while trying desperately to appear social. Lily seemed to enjoy herself, which is par for the course, and I learned that every father in their 30's is quite literally required to wear a half zip sweater at all times. For a second I actually thought we had accidentally stumbled into a Half Zip Sweater Convention instead of a children's birthday party.

All things considered, it wasn't half bad until the noisemakers made their presence loudly known, which was the cue to leave. Happy birthday Liam. You're a good kid, but I've still got my eye on you.

"Seriously, you are not bringing me into the party in this thing."

"Do they make a crayon that's the color of my pants?"

The two fathers, oblivious to Liam and Lily's plan to elope to Wicker Park.

"One day I'll own this town. Or at least a nice swing set."

Sushi Baby

The Ika Maki and Latin Heat Maki rolls at Tank Sushi, 4514 N. Lincoln Ave. On Saturday we checked in for a late lunch after making the rounds at Lincoln Square's Christkindl Market, picking up a few Christmas presents along the way and working up quite the appetite. The rolls were pretty stellar, particularly the Ika (the Latin one had that evil weed, cilantro)... that the rolls are half price until 6pm was cause for even more celebration.

I opted to go with the with the Sashimi platter (Chef's choice), which marked the first time that I've been courageous enough to order it on my own (I had scavenged off other people's plates before...classic Ben). Most times I play it safe and opt for the maki rolls, as opposed to the straight up raw fish, but the bitter cold had me feeling saucy. All things considered, it was pretty tasty. Yes, it tasted like you would imagine raw fish to taste, but not in a slimy, Cedar River sort of way, but in a fresh and delicious way. That said, 9 times out of 10 I'm still gonna opt for the rolls. That's just how I...roll.

Lily spent most of the time flirting with the waitstaff and craning her body around to bat her eyes at the 10 year old girl at the table next to us. She seemed to enjoy her Sweet Potato Tempura maki roll enough, although she devoured the chopstick rolls...essentially a combination of a taquito and a crab rangoon. In her baby words, "Everything tastes better on a Sesame Street disposable placemat."

Remembering Ron Santo

Photo by Will Byington

On Friday morning, I awoke to the news that Cubs radio broadcaster and should be Hall of Famer Ron Santo had died. Despite his lengthy battles with a variety of illnesses, including Type I diabetes, it took quite some time for the initial shock of the announcement to fade. While normally immune to any real sense of loss when a celebrity passes, Ron was more than that to us and to the city of Chicago. He was not only a sports icon, having spent most of his illustrious playing career with the Cubs, but he was like family. If Harry Caray was Chicago's slightly drunk grandfather, Ronnie was it's goofy and good-hearted uncle.

In many ways, listening to Ron and his partner Pat Hughes call games for the Cubs had come to symbolize summer in Chicago for both Katy and I. When we first moved here over seven years ago, Katy was still a relative baseball novice. It wasn't until she started listening to games on the radio with me that she really started to bleed Cubby blue...not so much for the actual game itself mind you, but for the camaraderie, witty banter and funny stories that Pat and Ron would share during the games, especially the blowouts, which happen more often than not with the Cubs.

Over the course of the next seven years, Pat and Ron would serve as our constant summertime companions...grilling out and cooking dinner in the kitchen; lying on the beach, fiddling with the portable radio trying to find the perfect frequency; making a ten minute trip to Target or a six hour drive back to Iowa; sitting on the porch, drinking a few Old Styles while the sun set. Pat and Ron were summer in Chicago, more so than the Cubs, because even when the team was losing they were still a joy to spend a few hours with.

Back in 2006, the Cubs were playing terrible baseball, and towards the end of the season, a woman that I knew who worked for the Cubs would often times offer me free tickets to the games. One chilly fall night, we were offered the opportunity to sit up in one of the press boxes. Our "seats" turned out to be a claustrophobic 12x12 booth with two swivel chairs and a wobbly table. To our immediate right was the Cubs radio booth and there sat Pat and Ron, calling this meaningless late season game as if it were Game 7 of the World Series.

At first they seemed to be a bit weirded out by these two random, and wholly unofficial looking twenty-somethings (sigh) sitting next to them eating nachos, but they seemed to let their guard down about halfway through the game, when during a commercial break they both turned to look at us. Ron smiled. Pat waved while eating an apple. If you ask her when she really became a Cubs fan, Katy would likely respond that it was at that moment.

"Remember when Pat was eating that apple?"

She earned her blue pinstripes that night and Ronnie forever earned a place in our hearts.

We'll miss you Ronnie.

I leave you with Katy's all-time favorite Ron story, the "frozen yogurt incident" courtesy of Pat Hughes. This is a story that Pat would recount once every summer. Like most good stories, it would grow bigger and more unbelievable with each telling. Each time Ron would laugh uncontrollably in the background, trying to make and excuse here and there (he never had a good one), all the while laughing at himself, something he was good at even in the tough times. We could all learn a lot from his unflappable spirit in the face of adversity, in regards to both physical challenges and challenges posed by frozen yogurt machines. Luckily for Ronnie, they have somebody that works those for you in heaven.

One that I like is the yogurt machine story in Arizona. It was about five years back because he still had his legs. The sign in the press room said, "Do not turn on this machine until game time." Ron figured, "Look, I can't wait until game time because I have to work at game time. Besides, I'm Ron Santo." So, he turns on this frozen yogurt machine, fills his cup happily, and then to his utter dismay, he cannot turn the machine off. Yogurt starts pouring out, and I mean mountains of yogurt. All over the floor. A complete mess. He starts shaking the machine and there was lots of cursing involved. Ron then panics and does what any 7th-grader would do: He runs away without telling anyone that the machine has gone haywire and calmly comes back to the booth with his cup of yogurt. - Pat Hughes

A Tale of Two Thanksgivings

Since we are headed back to the Hawkeye State for a whole week between Christmas and New Years, we decided to forgo the trip for Turkey Day, instead choosing to celebrate it here in the blustery cold of the Windy City. The weekend prior, my mom and stepdad, Susan and Ron came up for a quick weekend visit, followed by the Petersens, who came into town to watch Lily Bryn for the week while daycare was closed.

We made a last minute decision (one born out of laziness) to just go the Dominick's pre-made Thanksgiving route (I know, a foodie sin of the highest order)...but really, it wasn't half bad, especially for only $40. A 12 pound turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie, and then Katy supplemented everything with bacon wrapped dates, "yum yum" corn, and homemade apple pie. A traditional feast without the Randall sized hassle.

This was actually our second Thanksgiving...the first occurring a week prior at Lily's daycare, where Miss Linnette invited all of the kids and parents over for a Puerto Rican feast. Roasted pork, tamales, yellow rice with pigeon peas and sausage, codfish ceviche, plantains and pie. Lily sat next to her boyfriend Liam, and scarfed down the rice and beans as if Puerto Rico were her native land. She also received an invite to Liam's first birthday party on Sunday (Dating an older guy? I need to practice my 'keep your hands off my daughter' look). The birthday party just happens to be at the upstairs of a bar, which her parents rented out. So yep, at 11 months old, Lily will be going to a bar, underage, with her older boyfriend.

(Weeps. Eats ice cream. Watches "Steel Magnolias" in oversized robe. Mutters to self about finding a sturdy padlock for Lily's room.)

Lily trying to move her wagon once it hits the wall; it's like she's recreating the Three Point Turn scene from Austin Powers.

Lily and her boyfriend Liam enjoy some roasted pork and rice while discussing in baby language how they can fashion a blankie rope for her to sneak out the window.

I always maintained that apple pie was overrated (mostly just to be contrarian) until I tried my sister-in-law Gretchen's recipe. This is the kind of pie you see in cartoons, where they set it on the windowsill and the smell wafts across the field, causing the character who smells it to be lifted off the ground and float towards the window.

Who Wants Seconds?

Let these food pics serve as a case study for doctors everywhere once I finally succumb to the gluttonous/glorious evils that I've consumed. Here are a few of the highlights from the past few months.

The Brittany Turbot with chanterelle mushrooms, sweet corn flan and bacon cider jus at NoMI, 800 N. Michigan. Katy and I ate here for our anniversary dinner and it did not disappoint. We scored one of the primo tables overlooking Michigan Ave and Water Tower Place and from there it was on. We let the our white haired/white gloved waiter (think Jeeves sans accent meets A-Team era George Peppard) do our ordering for us and he didn't steer us wrong. Besides looking great, my fish was cooked perfectly, and Katy's veal tenderloin was the kind of dish that R. Kelly writes ballads about. The foie gras stuffed quail appetizer was perfectly fine as well, although Katy and I came to the joint conclusion that foie gras is horribly overrated. While that proclamation may cause angry foodies to hurl their balled up ascots at me while doing a spit take with their craft beers, I stand by that statement like Elliot Spitzer's wife stands by her man. To me, it merely tastes like chocolate mousse mixed in with gristle, with a dash of mayo. I'd rather have an extra serving of this next dish...

The La Sphere. So Peppard comes out, slaps this dessert down on the table, which at the time resembled Epcot Center, and with a wry grin pours hot strawberry salsa on top of the white chocolate dome, melting it away ("Come back!") to reveal banana creme, peanut ice cream and more strawberries. I begin fanning myself like an old southern belle, Katy immediately smashes her face into the plate and starts licking up the melted chocolate and an overweight, mustachioed man from the 1920's at the table next to us immediately upends his table and cries, "Good Lord, I'll have two of what they're having!"

The Pork Belly Virmicelli soup at XOCO, 449 N. Clark. Pork belly, noodles, woodland mushrooms, zucchini, avocado and salsa. Rick Bayless can do no wrong and I won't hear otherwise. This is our favorite lunch spot in the city, hands down. Besides serving up the best tortas in town, he now seems to have cornered the soup market as well. Yet with his winning smile and finely manicured goatee, no one will ever confuse him with the Soup Nazi. More like the Soup Jesus, turning water into Pork Belly Virmicelli.

The deconstructed S'more at Graham Elliot, 217 W. Huron. An old classic made better with the addition of peanut butter ice cream. I love this spot. Creative, gourmet food made fun and comfortable. Aged cheddar risotto with Cheeze It's, truffled popcorn, and Bloody Mary oysters...there's a lot to love about this fat son of a bitch and his wacky creations.

The pumpkin pancakes at Big Jones, 5347 N. Clark. Topped with granola and creole cream cheese. I literally almost cry looking at this picture. I go to bed clutching a frayed, tear-stained print out of it, and then smooth out the creases the next morning, whispering words of affection and telling it that it will all be okay. Someday soon, we'll be together again. We even have our own song.

The "naan-wich" at Gaztrowagon, 5973 N. Clark or a food truck near you. They were out of the wild boar that everyone raves about, so I opted for the pork belly with pickled onions, which was great (lawd, that bread!), but paled in comparison to the veal picatta that I got on my second trip there a couple of weeks ago. Even Lily gave that one her two-tooth seal of approval.* It was more moist than (edited for family content). If Bayless has the best sandwiches in the city, this place is nipping at his Kenneth Cole Reaction wearing heels.

*This seal is relatively easy to achieve. Just ask her friend, "frozen peas".

The half chicken and frites at The Publican, round two. For the love of Chic-fil-A, just look at it. I should think that I hardly have to sell you on this. While Katy and I are generally of the same mind that chicken is wildly overrated (you're off the hook for now foie gras), this dish is certainly the exception to the rule.

The pizza pot pie at Chicago Pizza & Oven Grinder, 2121 N. Clark Street. We waited nearly 20 minutes to be seated at 4:30pm on a Saturday, and normally the wait can be up to an hour and a half. To tell you truth, I'm not sure that the wait is really warranted. Sure, the interior feels like you're the distinguished dinner guest of Bilbo Baggins, but I found the pot pie to be merely average and I didn't really care for the giant, uncooked mushrooms inside. Not terrible by any means, but with Peaquod's a stone's throw away, you can definitely do better.

Better? You mean like this giant garlic bread frisbee? I gotta give it to em'. Size really does matter. It doesn't necessarily make it taste better, but it does give it a certain awe factor that makes it both appealing and appalling at the same time. I was able to fashion a rugged looking football out of the leftovers which throws a nice, tight spiral, though it does leave your hands smelling a little garlicy.

Cue the Wayne's World Flashback Effects

What's Wayne's World? Is that like Elmo's World?

Since our last post back in October of 82', a lot has happened here at La Hacienda De Handfelt (translated as 'the two and a half bedroom apartment of de Handfelts). Well, not really, but relatively speaking it will surely seem that way since I'm going to cram 2 months worth of modest social activities into one post. Bullet points always seem like a good place to start in scenarios such as these. In other words, I'm in no mood for creative, or even logical segues.

-October saw hordes of out-of-town Handfelts descending upon the Windy City, taking the City of Broad shoulders and getting it into a virtual headlock, noogies included. First up was the San Diego clan, Leo and Mary, who were in town to visit Cousin (well, their daughter) Katie, who, by all accounts, is the "original Katie Handfelt". Never mind that their names are spelled differently, it's a semantics issue. We met up at Chicago Pizza & Oven Grinder, which appears to have been dropped into Lincoln Park from The Shire. Oddly shaped pizza pot pies were consumed before we headed over to get some late season ice cream at Annette's. Upon seeing so many young, virile* college students who reminded me of my rapid ascent towards old age and mortality, I consumed my Styrofoam bowl of chocolate frozen yogurt as fast as I could, in a vain attempt to achieve a Mach 5 level ice cream headache that would "make it all go away."

*I may have used the word 'virile' in a wrong, potentially awkward way right there.

Leo, Katy, Lily ("hello? Down here!"), some creepo, Katie's roommate Ally, Katie and Mary. A crew best not trifled with, to be sure.

Uncle Leo and Aunt Mary make their HHH debut with everyone's favorite photo accessory.

-Later that month (Halloween weekend for those of you playing "HHH Bingo" at home), Bernie and Chris came for a visit. Lily was fawned and feted upon, as that's actually Grandparent Law. Every time a grandparent ignores this law, a CSI gets cancelled. It's not only law, it's science. We were also able to fit in another trip to The Publican, and once again it was met with thunderous applause and flashing, the latter being done by me. Bernie and Chris were understandably nervous about letting me order for the table, but soon came to embrace the chicken, country ribs and pork belly like long lost relatives back from the war.*

*Calm down there Sally, food pics will be forthcoming in a later post. You know this man!

At The Publican with Bernie and Chris, where we ate like kings and queens. In fact, I banged my fist on the table numerous times, speaking in rich, deep tones and drinking out of goblet while wiping my ale stained beard on my sleeve and laughing at misfortune of others. (Because that's what I imagine kings did at large, gluttonous feasts.)

Wait, what? My head appears to be on a different body? Classic! I can really get behind this type of innocent tomfoolery.

-Fast forward the Handfelt VHS tape to November for a visit from Katy's friend Jen and her husband Chadwick (though for some reason he prefers "Chad", his given name), who came into town for the Iowa/Northwestern game. Also known as, "the start of Iowa's downward shame spiral". None-the-less, we had no idea the fate that would befall our black and gold heroes, so it was a blast all the same. We ended up tailgating in Evanston on a side street by ourselves (probably a good thing since I had unbearable B.O. that day) and had to huddle together inside a giant bison carcass to keep warm, but were thankfully saved by Katy's slow cooker BBQ pork sandwiches on French bread* and Chad's well worn gloves. You read can Jen's far more eloquent recap on their blog, found here. Same wit and charm without the drunken, esoteric rambling.

Jen and Katy, tailgating. Alone and cold. Not pictured: me desperately trying to not pee my pants while Chad offers stern words of encouragement.

Jen and Chad's rental car.* Respect the ginger stache! (But did it blog a 'Mustache Diaries'?)

*LOL WUT? J/K.

What else?

• Katy got bangs.
• Lily turns 11 months in 2 days. She'll likely be walking before the next update.
• Go see 127 Hours and Black Swan - out December 3rd. Not just because I'm working on them (though c'mon, do me a solid), but that they're two of the best movies of the year. Black Swan will blow your mind. In the next weeks I'm seeing True Grit, The Fighter, The Company Men and Blue Valentine. I'll have wholly original Top 10 list posted by the end of the year. Mark your calendars! (In pencil. And write it really light.)
• Lots of good stuff coming up this week: the return of the HHH Hotcake Showdown; a new feature where we cook the whole Rick Bayless cookbook, a la Julie & Julia, but in super slow motion; FOOD PICS, a tale of two Thanksgivings, and of course, a big ole' Lily update. I have some other relatively decent ideas (and jokes) that I'm tossing around, but either way there should be a lot more content up on a regular basis. Try not to pee your pants like I almost did at the Iowa game.
• Remember to bookmark the old/new site. http://thehandfelthappyhour.blogspot.com. Lily and Carm are working diligently to procure our old website address, but until then, just bask in the nostalgia of the .blogspot era.