This was the first New Year’s Eve where I didn’t have a real plan or intentions on staying up until midnight. The combination of Omicron raging across New York and my early bird tendencies made it an easy decision. While there were many personal highs of 2021 (getting engaged, holding my book for the first time, really becoming part of a community), the constant storm of Covid, loss, climate change, and general unsettling made me feel like it might be best to tiptoe into the new year without much fanfare.
When I finally made my way downstairs Saturday morning, I was greeted with waffles. Not just any waffles, but Ryan’s family recipe for sour cream waffles. I’ve quickly learned that his grandmother’s secret ingredient to make just about anything better is sour cream. The only waffles I ate growing up were Eggo waffles that I had every day before school for a solid five years. No shame to Eggos, but Ryan’s recipe is a far cry from the store-bought variety. There’s sour cream and buttermilk, which keep the batter light and tangy, a bit of sugar, which adds a hint of sweetness, and lots of butter. The outside becomes golden brown and crispy, while the interior remains impossibly fluffy. For them, it’s really worth investing in a waffle maker.
This year I’m letting go of making any flashy resolutions and focusing more on intentions. Thinking about the moments, people, and habits that really fill my cup, and working toward incorporating more of that into my day-to-day life. Part of this is the realization and acceptance that I—we—can form new traditions, and I think waffles on New Year’s Day is just the kind of thing we collectively need to jump feet first into the new year, every year.
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