A word or two on my Belgian Waffle Recipe- My wife is Belgian, so the bar is set high in our house. I went through several different attempts before finding this one. The following recipe not only met her standards, it has been tested many times with visiting family and friends.
So far, it has passed every test.
The three keys to this recipe are yeast, egg white meringue, and time. And butter. One can’t neglect the role of butter. Bon Appetit magazine had an article a while back entitled, “Literally Everything is Better with Butter,” so who am I to disagree?
With this recipe, I generally get a baker’s dozen waffle squares on my large four-square waffle maker.
Ingredients:
1 package dry yeast
2 cups lukewarm milk
6 eggs, separated
2 ½ cups sifted flour
½ teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
½ cup melted butter
You want to start with warm milk: Depending on your microwave, stick in two cups for about a 1:11 or so. Lukewarm or slightly warmer.
Stir 1 tablespoon of sugar and ½ teaspoon of salt into the milk until it has all dissolved.
Then stir a standard portion of yeast (2 ¼ teaspoons) into the milk and set it to one side while you do the rest of the prep. By the time you’re ready to pour it in, you should be seeing bubbles around the yeast (I like to do it this way because it speeds things up, and it also tests to be sure the yeast is active.)
A lot of recipes call for a teaspoon of vanilla. Feel free to stir that into the milk. Personally, though I love the smell, I can’t taste the difference when it’s there, and vanilla is expensive, I skip it.
Sift 2 ½ cups of flour into a bowl and create a hollow in the center for liquids.
Crack open 6 eggs, and get all the whites into a mixing bowl. It is vital that you do not allow ANY egg yolk into the mix. If you goof up, start over. (In the long run, this is much less frustrating than trying to get a meringue to pop with egg yolk in there).
Reserve 4 egg yolks for the batter, toss the other two into the garbage/compost/dog’s food, etc.
Whip the egg whites into a nice, thick meringue. I’m talking peaks here. Stiff.
Drop the yolks into the hollow in the flour. Stir them into a yellow liquid, then mix in the milk and stir carefully to create the batter.
At this point, it’s pretty thick. Don’t sweat that yet.
Melt a full cube of butter.
Yup—that’s what I said. The recipe calls for ½ a cup.
Do this carefully, so as not to separate it. No need for clarified butter here…
When the butter is melted, let it cool to lukewarmish, then mix it into the batter.
Now your batter should be creamy smooth.
Fold in the egg whites carefully—you want the minimal amount of manipulation here, but you want the egg whites folded in completely, too.
Let sit for about 90 minutes or so until the batter has doubled in size.
Ladle the batter carefully into your preheated waffle maker and cook to your desired crispness.
My Belgian wife generally cuts up strawberries or rinses some blueberries and spoons those on top of her waffle which she then dusts with powdered sugar.
I’m an American through and through, so I smear mine with peanut butter and then hit them with heated maple syrup. (In my defense, I have converted a Belgian or two to my method.)
Voilà.
Extra- Here's a true-life ghost story that connects to a giveaway
I have seen a ghost.
Two in fact.
They manifested themselves to me when I was living in a studio apartment in Bangkok, Thailand.
The crazy thing is they appeared to me one afternoon while I was having a phone conversation with a good buddy. As we discussed where to meet for dinner, I paced the apartment, phone to one ear, idling playing with this and that when I noticed a smudge in the mirror over the bureau.
I looked more closely, and the smudge appeared to be a hazy mist, like a heat mirage. Bangkok is hot, so I thought maybe that’s what it was. But when I looked from the mirror to the spot it reflected: nothing.
Double-checked the mirror: definite hazy mist.
Space between the desk and the wastepaper basket: nothing.
Mirror: the mist began to coalesce. As I watched, it suddenly popped into a sharp 3D image of a young girl in a black and red-checkered dress.
Space between the desk and wastepaper basket: hazy mirage, but then, as I watched the space: pop! A little girl in a black and red-checkered dress. Sharply defined, like the best hologram you’ve ever seen. A moment of time, frozen in space.
In the mirror, a new hazy phenomenon appeared next to the little girl.
After the same back and forth, pop! The severed head of a white foreigner. It looked like his head had been ripped from his body, the skin torn where the neck met the tile floor of the apartment, rather than cut.
All this while I was still on the phone with my buddy.
When the head popped into place in real life, I backed away and told my buddy I’d meet him soon, then hung up.
And tore out of there in a hurry.
I saw them again one more time, but that’s another story…
This giveaway is a repurposed telling of this story to fit the main character in my Ghost Hunter series, what I’m calling a Paranormal Vigilante Thriller series about a former ex-special forces soldier who sees the dead. All the dead he sees died unpleasantly, at another’s hand or their own. My main character, Max, goes after their killers in an attempt to rid himself of the visions and to give the dead the peace they deserve.
Check out the series on Amazon
Want a free copy of the repurposed version of the story CLICK HERE
A different version of it appears in book four, The Bad Beginning.
Peter J. White
Genre: Horror
Date of Publication: 12/12/2022
ISBN: 979-8368383125
ASIN: B0BPXD2DQN
Number of pages: 249
Word Count: 62,000
Cover Artist: Martina Sutter-Dalton
Tagline: A powerful witch with a mission to bring the child of Satan into the world lies dead and buried under an 1885 rowhouse. When Roger Nimanator moves in, the old witch discerns in him an open door to the spirit world.
Book Description:
A powerful witch with a mission to bring the child of Satan into the world lies dead and buried under an 1885 rowhouse in Allentown, Pennsylvania, held in place by a combination of hex and the spirit of the young woman she had impregnated. But when Roger Nimanator and his family take possession of the house, the old witch discerns in him an open door to the spirit world.
The old witch gets a grip on Roger and begins to move in the world again, her spirit hungry for vengeance and for the coming of the Dark Lord. But Roger has awakened to his abilities and has gained a powerful ally in a modern-day witch and healer. Together they are determined to put the old witch to rest for eternity.
But the witch is wily and she has found allies of her own—a legion of them. Including one of Roger’s twin boys.
A master of manipulation and deceit, with Satanic powers growing, the old witch is on the verge of bringing her vision to reality. All she has to do is feed Roger’s doubt and the world—and his soul—are hers and the Dark Lord’s for the taking.
Excerpt:
A cat
appeared at the threshold of the doorway.
A cat? A
black cat? Are you fucking kidding me? How cliché.
Roger
moved to swing his legs over the side of the bed, only he didn’t.
Body won’t
obey. What the fuck?
You’re
dreaming. Simple. Sleep paralysis. Told you.
This is no
fucking sleep paralysis. This is happening.
Nonsense.
The cat
arched its back and rubbed itself against the doorjamb in a way that sent a
shiver of dread through Roger.
Sexual.
Can feel the lust pouring off the thing…
The cat
stretched, yawned lazily, the yellow slits of its eyes glaring in the dim light
coming through the gauzy curtains covering the bedroom windows.
Those
eyes…
The cat
seemed to grin at him as if sensing his discomfort.
It walked
lazily over to the side of the bed, coiled itself, then leapt up. It sat for a
moment, staring at him, tail twitching, unblinking eyes staring into his, lips
turned up to reveal its sharp little teeth.
Those
eyes…reaching deep into me, reading my secrets, measuring the weight of my
soul…
Nonsense.
The cat
stood and put a paw on Roger’s leg.
Cold shot
through him and he would have gasped if his body had allowed him.
The cat
grinned up at him, yellow eyes glittering, lips curled back, and took another
step.
It walked
up Roger’s legs, the weight of the thing tremendous, out of proportion, the
cold shock of its presence icy, penetrating to the soul.
Thing
weighs as much as a grown woman…
How can
that be?
Dreaming.
That’s how. Sleep paralysis.
Wake up!
No, this
is real. The goddamn cat a familiar or whatever the fuck they call them.
Don’t be
an idiot. Wake up!
The cat
seemed to relish the confusion and pain Roger was suffering, lingering with its
paws on each of his thighs.
Then it
lowered its head and butted his breastbone.
Pain shot
through his chest and for a moment he was certain his heart had stopped.
The cat
headbutted his sternum again and he found himself staring at the ceiling,
unable to move, shadows from the streetlamp outside making ghostly shapes as
the curtains swayed from the breeze coming through the cracked open window.
The
shadows began to take shape: a ring of figures, dancing, flickering as if they
were shadows cast by firelight. Trees in the background.
Smoke?
Wood smoke and something else…flesh and hair and…
The scene
suddenly so real Roger felt he’d been transported in place and time.
Nonsense.
Wake up!
The cat
walked up his belly to sit on his chest.
Weight
tremendous. Can’t. Breathe.
The cat
stretched.
And kept
stretching, growing impossibly tall, changing, morphing into…
An old
woman, breasts stretched out tubes of flabby flesh hanging down to her soft,
sagging stomach, swinging as she straddled Roger.
Those
yellow eyes stared into his, and the creature’s mouth opened, teeth a cross between
a cat’s and human, blackened, rotten, with sharp fangs intact.
A foul
odor issued from her mouth and added to the sense of suffocation. Roger’s mind
began to fray under the onslaught, claustrophobia claiming him, panic rising.
The thing
on top of him cackled again, sending a gout of foul breath into his face.
Roger
tried to buck her off. To gag. To cry for help. To breathe.
Total
paralysis.
Going to
suffocate. Going to die any moment now.
The deep
spot in his inner self was alive with panic, yammering at him:
Wake up!
Wake up! Wake up!
The thing
on top of him stiffened.
At first,
Roger thought it was nearing an orgasm of some sort, but no…
Another presence had arrived…
Peter J. White was born in Colorado and raised in SE Alaska. He has degrees in Education, French, and an MFA in Creative Writing. He taught ELL in Bangkok, Thailand for six years, and currently teaches high school English in Washington State. Hobbies, past and present, include writing, bicycling, mountain climbing, kickboxing, MMA, and yoga.
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