Growing up, pancakes held a special place at my house. They signified Dad or my grandfather (Papa) cooking breakfast and time spent together in the kitchen before everyone else was downstairs. Always an early riser, I’d come down to a glass of Donald Duck orange juice and either of them sharing the “secrets” to a perfect pancake. Admittedly, I never knew anyone who made pancakes as good as my dad and Papa. No burns. Always an even light brown on both sides. The perfect amount of fluffiness without being too cake-like.