Monday, May 12, 2008

Original Pancake House; Boulder, CO

- or -

"Good Meets Evil Over Pancakes"

My last few times back in Colorado, I've sent out a notice to my immediate pals that breakfast at the Original Pancake House (OPH) in Boulder may happen the next day if i get a taker. The list of invitees is always the same: the Birdhead, Dr. Bob, the Beatle, Timmy, my other brother Joe and the Punkin.


The cast of characters usually gets something between 12 and 24 hours' notice, and the list being what it is, they understand that it's a take-it-or-leave-it-no-offense proposition. Everyone's fine and happy with it.



{Weirdly, I lost my friendship with the Troll over a similar thing. I'd give him a ring whenever I was in town and started getting this whole "Do you really expect me to say 'yes' on such short notice?" And it's not like he was Johnny Time Commitment. No kids. Something akin to a crappy USGS job. I mean, come on, it's not unusual for me to have no idea where I'll be the next week. I finally just quit calling because of his verbal abuse, and lo' and behold, we've fallen out of touch. And he's a Troll, for chrissakes.}



This breakfast was very tentative, because I'd only given about 12 hours notice with no immediate possibilities. The Birdhead was all over it, though, and sent a boomerang positive response the night before.



On my drive to Boulder I got an email from the Punkin. I'd always invited him, but never heard a response in the past ... for some reason this one caught his attention. A quick exchange and I knew he'd be in.


Now this is an interesting meeting. The Birdhead, a hardline, but not out-of-line Christian; and the Punkin, about as rough-and-tumble as you can get while still actually holding down a legitimate day job. I know the Dr. and the Beatle won't make it -- I'm guessing Timmy won't either. So it'll be a good three-some.



And it's all going down in one of my very favorite chains in America. OPH serves very high quality food, made to order, with the freshest of ingredients. And damn near everything is bigger than your head. Imagine Denny's if it had been reincarnated as a decent place and you're starting down the right path.



I get to the OPH early and the Birdhead's Toyota Tonka is already parked outside. I fetch him in from the World's Greatest Hardware Store (Bo3b was able to get a fuse for a Marantz amp here when he couldn't find it anywhere in the valley). We get a chirpy, mildly granola crunching, white waitress and order our food.


I go with that favorite fall back, a Dutch Baby and an ice tea.


The Birdhead and I exchange pleasantries. I explain how I have (yet again) left his Xmas present at home. Then I give the Birdhead a pre-introduction to the Punkin. Even though I haven't seen him since the kidney punch, I know what's up. "He'll be wearing wire frame glasses. His hair will be short, with a hat -- probably a beret. He'll have a new tattoo of some kind, maybe Britney Spears or something. Oh, and he'll be wearing a rock t-shirt. Maybe Debbie Gibson."


On cue, the Punkin steps through the door. He's wearing a low-slung cap, wire frame glasses and a black rock t-shirt {"What band is that?" "What? Oh. Some Internet band, I think."}. He truly hasn't changed since college and the Birdhead almost blows a biscuit when the Punkin says he's 50.


I encourage the Punkin to order a Dutch Baby and tell the waitress, "This here is the Punkin. He's a legend in Boulder. Make sure the cooks put extra love in his Dutch Baby." She understands immediately. I don't have to repeat it.




The food comes and our collective conversation wanders. The vast majority of it is me grilling the Punkin, which normally would be a social faux pas, but the Birdhead and I are in continual communication (much more than say, my brother and I are). The Punkin is impressed with the fact that I've taken the last 18 months off with my minor score.


"Well, what would you do if you hit it big Punkin? Say, if someone dropped a million dollars in your lap. I mean, you'd buy a house and a car. Then what?"


He responded in the way he responds to all conversation, which is to say he chuckles. "I'd get some more ink," and he pulls up his sleeve.


"And then what?"


"That's good enough, I guess."




Exactly.


My Dutch Baby was spectacular. The Punkin's had extra love. The Birdhead spent half the meal wishing he'd ordered a Dutch Baby instead -- but what's he going to do with extra love? He's already married to the Fairy Princess (who made a cameo appearance) and has an elfin child. He has enough love.


The high part of the conversation was seeing the Birdhead nearly hoark an ice cube when the Punkin said, "I've only done heroin three times in my life. And of those, only one had that big punch that you're looking for."


Exactly.

4 comments:

kingfeddy said...

What exactly is a "Dutch Baby" and what do you get when you add "extra love"?

I can't tell from the photo what is in the middle - egg? cheese?

It looks either super delicious, or disgusting. [Okay, I looked on their site and while they don't really say what it is made out of, it looks more delicious. Like on par with a real Belgian waffle (that you'd get in Belgium). Better perhaps.]

b1-66er said...

it's essentially a giant, yet very eggy, pancake. there's nothing in the middle of the pancake, nor baked inside.

essentially it's a pancake that's pure in concept.

they're best when prepared very thin (they're actually made on a stove, then baked in an oven) and served hot with lemon and powdered sugar.

you'd like it.

you'd also be overwhelemed by the size.

b1-66er said...

oh, and the fact that you would question what "extra love" means shows, truly, how sad your life has become.

next time we go eat, i'll order extra love for you, i promise.

kingfeddy said...

Dude,

There are many types of "extra love" and I was just wondering if in this case it was slang for "extra cheese" or "whipped cream on top".

One could argue that I'd like to send you a little "extra love" to thank you for your snarky little comment above.

It isn't that sad.