I think of so many little things to tell you off and on throughout the day, but then I sit down to write them out and am brought up short by the disturbing realization that either all my great thoughts were really half-baked bits of crazy or they’re all insufferably mundane, and then I’m left slouching here on the green couch, my sliver of cake eaten, my cup of coffee only just barely sipped at, and with no idea how to get you to the point where I want to take you which is, in today’s case, these potatoes and onions.

Ha! I did it! I got you passed the car wreck on 64E, the birthday evening, a sappy tirade about belly dance and how it’s changed my self-image (kind of), me screaming PIANO IS A BYPRODUCT at my 11-year-old son, the extensive fort construction that’s going on down in the field, my profound thoughts on eternity and clean rooms, a cute sock monkey, my monumental paradigm shifts about money, and brought you skidding—uuuurch!—to a halt right where I wanted you to be. Aren’t I amazing?

Nah, I’m really not that great. But these potatoes? Oh my. They smote me over the head with their luscious deliciousness, so much so that I couldn’t even gather my wits enough to write about them. Until now, that is. Now I’m setting to, organizing my priorities, writing out the facts so that all may partake in the experience of being smitten.

I write about these potatoes not only because they are delicious (are they ever) but also because they are so so easy to prepare. It’s not even really a recipe, more of a technique, but boy, is it ever one heck of a technique! I’m keeping this Tater Technique stuck in my belt so it’ll always be right on hand, ready to be whipped out at the least provocation.

So, what you do is this. Wash a bunch of potatoes and peel a couple onions—about four parts potato to one part onion. Thinly slice the potatoes (I used my mandoline), and even thinlier slice the onions. In a greased baking dish, make a layer of potatoes followed by a layer of onions, a hearty grind of pepper, a flurry of salt, and some thin slivers of butter. Repeat till there are no more onions and potatoes left. Cover the pan with foil and bake in a hot oven until the potatoes are fork-tender. Remove the foil and sprinkle some freshly grated Parmesan cheese over top. Bake for another 10 minutes or so.

While the pan is in the oven, this is what happens: the butter and salt soak into the potatoes, the onions soften and sweeten, the cheese bubbles and browns, and the house smells like someone cares. It’s really quite the transformation. (Especially after living on pancakes, eggs, granola and oatmeal for three days.)

For a quick Saturday night supper, serve the potatoes and onions as the main dish with green beans and applesauce. And jealously guard the leftovers—they’ll go mighty fine with your breakfast eggs.

Potatoes and Onions
Adapted from Mama Pea over at A Home Grown Journal

The proportions are just guesstimates. I never bothered to measure.

8-10 cups of potatoes, washed, unpeeled, and thinly sliced
2-3 cups onions, peeled, halved, and very thinly sliced
6-8 tablespoons cold butter, cut into thin slices
salt and pepper
½ – 1 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Place a layer of potatoes in the bottom of a greased 9 x 13-inch baking dish. Layer on some onions. Dot with butter and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Repeat layers till all the potatoes and onions are used up. Finish with a final dotting of butter and sprinkling of S&P. Cover the potatoes with foil and bake at 400 degrees for 45 minutes, or until the potatoes are fork-tender. Remove the foil and sprinkle the potatoes with the cheese. Bake for another 10 minutes or so. Serve hot.

This same time, years previous: red raspberry-rhubarb pie

Over at Simple Bites, Aimee has been posting up a storm about all things pancake. There was a post on homemade syrups and another post that included several pancake recipes. All that panny-cake talk got me hungry, so one night last week when I was scheduled to have a houseful of kids (eight total, to be exact), I decided to have a pancake feast.

I spent a fair amount of the afternoon putzing around the kitchen, mixing up the dry ingredients and the wet for three different kinds of pancakes: pumpkin, cornmeal-blueberry, and whole wheat buttermilk (I made the buttermilk pancakes using 100 percent whole wheat and they were lovely—there is absolutely no reason to use any white flour in that recipe). I also made three corresponding syrups: cinnamon molasses, orange-honey, and buttery brown sugar. I planned to serve the pancakes in courses (my daughter’s idea), and there would be a huge skillet of scrambled cheesy eggs as well. And lots of milk, of course. ‘Cause you can’t have pancakes without milk.

My plan worked beautifully, or would have, if the electricity hadn’t gone off right when I started frying up course two.

The kids yelled and scrambled for candles and I, my shoulders slumping, said to my husband, “Better go get the outdoor stove.”

I fried the rest of the pancakes on the porch, a fading headlamp my only weapon against the encroaching darkness, and the kids ferried the pancakes from porch to table. The lack of light in no way inhibited them from stuffing their tummies to the bursting point.

Then, just when I was beginning to contemplate the mountain of dirty dishes (somehow I managed to soil nearly all of my spatulas and rubber scrapers and plates and forks and spoons and glasses and mixing bowls), the lights (and water) came back on.

My husband and I cast a Maria von Trapp spell over the kids while we blitzed the kitchen, and then my husband read from Little House while the kids lollygagged about and I sat on the floor in the middle of them and tried to knit without getting jostled.

All things considered, the meal was a success (though 18 eggs were definitely not enough). I enjoyed my time spent playing and creating and watching the kids stuff their faces. Also, I learned that I love cinnamon molasses syrup and that a bit of butter stirred into a standard brown sugar syrup makes for some serious deliciousness.

Cinnamon Molasses Syrup
Adapted from Simple Bites

This syrup is wonderfully delicious on heartier pancakes, like sweet potato or pumpkin (I prefer lighter syrups for lighter pancakes). I also drizzled it on some leftover cornbread and loved loved loved it. In fact, I’m thinking that next time I make cornbread, I’ll be making this syrup to go with it.

1/4 cup molasses
½ cup brown sugar
1/3 cup water
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1 tablespoon butter

Combine the first four ingredients in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Simmer for 2 or 3 minutes before removing from the heat. Stir in the butter. Store in the fridge, in a lidded glass jar.

Yield: one pint

Buttery Brown Sugar Syrup
Inspired by Simple Bites and a bunch of other recipes on the web

I tried to make an all brown sugar syrup, but the brown sugar only stayed dissolved for a short amount of time before turning grainy. No amount of reheating could return it to it’s smooth, syrupy form. For this reason, I used three parts white sugar and one part brown—white sugar dissolves completely and remains that way.

(I already have a brown sugar syrup in the recipe index—it has equal parts sugar and water and some thickener, so it’s a little less sweet. Plus, it makes a large amount—it’s still my bulk-syrup go-to recipe.)

3/4 cup white sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
½ cup water
1/4 teaspoon maple flavoring
1/4 teaspoon vanilla
1 tablespoon butter

Put the sugars and water in a saucepan and bring it to a rolling boil. Remove it from the heat and stir in the flavorings and butter. Store in the fridge, in a lidded glass jar.

Yield: one pint

To soak up the sticky-sweet: baked French toast, cornmeal-whole wheat waffles, Dutch puff, Farmer Boy pancakes, oatmeal pancakes, Russian pancakes, and whole wheat buttermilk waffles. Go on now, cook yourself up some breakfast love!