Lily Walking and Talking (Kind of)

The 2:00 mark is especially choice.

The Many Faces Of Lily Bryn

She's always her most expressive at the dinner table, naturally. Classic Handfelt food hysteria!

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.