On dank, chilly mornings in northern downtown Chicago, few breakfasts provide as much comfort as warm, rumply, buttery pancakes from The Original House of Pancakes. Elbow to elbow, diners squeeze into chairs like pulp into juice glasses. Coats, scarves and mitten fall; menus go up and hungry customers anxiously wait for a Two by Four or a 49'er. This is the place where my tongue fell in love with Three Little Pigs in Blankets. Sweet, salty and scrumptious.
Imagine my delight when my dear friend Tonya, who resides in Bluffton, S.C., motored us to a special place near her new home. Oh, joy & rapture! I'm sure the South thinks nothing of it since they practically bathe in buttermilk, but for me, a plate of the Bacon Pancakes is the pinnacle of sweet+savory connoisseurs. Even moreso than salty fries dipped in a Wendy's frosty.
Just look at Tonya's smile! She's smiling for pancakes, as was I. If only every day could start like this.
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