My Mom’s popover tin holds a lot of sentimental value for me. Since I live in my childhood home, I’ve kept it in the same part of the kitchen it’s always been in, nestled in between baking sheets above the oven. It’s never not been there.
Since I don’t remember having popovers as a kid, I have to fill in the blanks of why we had it. What I like to imagine is that my Mom had lofty ideas of making a fancy popover breakfast for the family. Bev would have chosen the sweet route, for sure. I can also imagine all of the men in her life complaining about popovers and how much they didn’t like them (just like my family!) so she gave up those dreams.
I may have placed my own narrative on hers… who knows?
I’m the only person in my family who likes Dutch babies and popovers. They’re the closest thing to my favorite donut (cruller). It’s comforting with its crispy edges and eggy center. It’s bready but delicate. I like mine with a bit of jam or cinnamon sugar and butter. I suppose the best part about being the one with the popover tin and the love for popovers in my family is that I don’t have to share 😉
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