Panfraffle.

Panfraffle. It sounds like a Tolkien character, some dwarf or elf or something, perhaps a witty guide to show you the way to the mythical land of Skankendale, east of Buttmunchshire. It's not. What then, you ask, is Panfraffle? Why, it's what we had for dinner last night.

You've heard of a turducken? A chicken, stuffed inside a duck, stuffed inside a turkey? Well, a Panfraffle is essentially a waffle, wrapped in a pancake, dipped in egg batter and fried like French toast. Logan came up with the idea, refined the concept and gave it the name.



The lid is to trap enough heat to cook any egg batter that seeps inside. Can't have the kids collapsing from salmonella poisoning, now can we?


Were they good? I can't say one way or the other, because I didn't have any. See, I've mostly lost my sweet tooth in my old age, so I generally avoid pancakes, waffles, and French toast. Naturally I'd be averse to eating an unholy combination of all three. Instead, I had leftover king crab sweet corn chowder from Saturday night. Divine.

However, that damned Panfraffle still haunts me. Perhaps I should have at least tried a bite…