Growing up on a small farm in Washington State, Saturday was a work day, spent selling our produce at the Farmer's Market in the spring, summer and fall. Sunday, on the other hand, was a lazy day, a day to kick back, relax, listen to the CBC, and gorge ourselves on berries and cream and yeast waffles that my father cooked using a special, old-fangled waffle iron designed to fit over the fire box of our wood burning cook stove. The cream was heavy and flavored only with vanilla, the fruit whatever was in season--strawberries, raspberries, and the odd tayberry, loganberry or wild blackberry. <br /> <br />Now that I live in big bad Brooklyn, 3000 miles away from my little island home, I make these fluffy golden waffles on an electric iron scavenged from my boyfriend's father's basement. Not quite as good as when my Dad makes them--and I think they could do with just a touch of woodsmoke for flavoring--but pretty dang tasty nonetheless! <br />

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