Recently, I had the bright idea to make ‘breakfast for dinner’ for three reasons:

1. My kids love it, and we rarely do it. (More on that later.)
2. It was a great chance to use our first-ever waffle maker, which I had gotten on super-sale at Williams Sonoma after the holidays.
3. It was a “quick and easy”.  (In my head. Not IRL.)

I planned a simple menu of Kodiak Cakes Power Cakes homemade waffles and bacon.

Easy. So easy. On paper.

Except, well, I had never made homemade waffles before.

And, apparently that shit is an art form – and I’ve managed to prepare an underground version of a waffle art gallery that may actually make my mother-in-law disown me. (She cooks perfectly gorgeous Belgian waffles for all major holidays like it’s her job. People would legit pay good money for those babies!)

Hopefully, waffle making skills come from the paternal side. Let’s take a look. (You can click the pictures if you want to see all the waffle gore – they got a little cut off in the gallery view below.)

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  Here's the first waffle I made. Plated. Ready for consumption. (By someone. Maybe Bob?)

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  Here's the second. Apparently, this was a heavy pour. And it was at this point, I realized a pour was a good idea and grabbed a glass of wine. You'd think that extra flap would have made it easier to peel off, but nope. It split the sucker in two.

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  Here's the second...again. Well, technically, the now flap-less bottom half of the second. You can see the top half over there all lonely and half naked ... hiding the shameful flap that ruined its perfect waffle status.

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  Here's a close up of the second. It took longer to scrape that shit off the sizzling waffle maker than it would have if I made meatballs from scratch. Who the hell even wants waffles anyway?

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  And third. Better, but I was gun-shy on the pour after I Mount St. Helens'd the last one. It's missing almost a whole quarter - don't let the tongs fool you.

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  Fifth. This is the best one of the bunch. And the kids fought over it. And I not-so-calmly explained that they all taste the same, and waffle looks don't matter once I cut it up anyway!

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  And the last. Thanks to the voluptuous second waffle, there wasn't enough batter for this guy.

All this? Not quick. Not easy.

In fact, by the time Kenny got home from a soccer board meeting, I was totally sweating. AND, I had already sent the kids to bed. Because despite actually eating the “waffles” I made, they also managed to pound, well…a pound of bacon while I was standing over this God-forsaken machine cooking the rest of their dinner. So there was none left for anyone else.

Job one for Kenny going forward? To remind me – emphatically – that breakfast is best when it’s made and served on a rainy Sunday morning when we have nothing to do and all day to clean up the kitchen carnage that only a homemade breakfast can leave behind.

And Diane Clark, kudos to you and your amazing waffles. You may just get a second waffle maker (very slightly used) for Mother’s Day this year – hahaha! (Just kidding. I will try again. Maybe. On a Sunday morning. Or…maybe not.)

Finally, Mom – good call with whatever the ShopRite brand of frozen waffles are called. Good call indeed.