For some reason, I am craving popovers. It has been so long since I made or ate popovers that I don't think my kids even know what they are. I love popovers, so I dig out my mother's recipe ... a.k.a. Betty Crocker ... and give it a whirl.The popovers look fabulous when I take them out of the oven -- warm and tall, though I know the tops will fall in shortly. For some reason, the popovers weigh a lot. They're very heavy, not too heavy, but heavy like when biscuits end up more like hockey pucks than rolls. I also seem to have forgotten how eggy they taste. I don't remember them being so yolky (yeah, I may have made up that word), so I try to cut that flavor with a slab of butter melting inside the popover's center.
When the butter trick doesn't help as much as I'd like, I pull the popover I am eating into pieces and dip it into the gravy of my stew, making the roll more like Yorkshire pudding. That does help, but still I am disappointed by my memory mismatching my reality.
Oh, well. I have leftover popovers and stew, which isn't a bad thing at all. The spare room doesn't get finished, but I'm over it, at least for now. I can always use the popovers as paperweights to hold stuff down until I can put it where it belongs.
