My mother used to make cornbread of stone ground 100% whole corn and real buttermilk the night before a holiday and served it for dinner with butter and honey. The rest was for stuffing. That tradition was just as important as our usual Sunday morning waffles. Those were also of whole grains, the type could be varied, but she'd always start by emulsifying the oil in egg yolk, and the whole batch culminated with folding in the egg whites.

My father was in charge of the old waffle iron which he'd carefully heat and oil. The first waffle was always a gamble, whether it would stick. Some were disastrous, but rarely did he have to unplug it and take it out to the shop to scrape out all the little spaces, though there were enough of those. Not the same with these Teflon things that you don’t dare touch. One round waffle at a time came out, folded and split four ways, savored with warm brown sugar syrup made fresh each week. The L.A. Times had a two-part funny paper which my brother and I would trade. In good weather, even in marginal, we'd be out on the side porch. Winter time, the kitchen table. That's where most of the family’s entertaining took place.