This Mother’s Day, I made plans (if you find irony in a mom making Mother’s Day plans, just don’t even bother…I’m quite over it and there’s bigger things to fret over, like our burning planet and my husband’s socks on the stairs).  With so many things running our budget amok, I suggested a tasty and frugal pancake breakfast at our very Norwegian Lutheran Church in Minneapolis. Due to a teenager who can’t leave the house without makeup perfection and a husband who lives a vampire life in a restaurant, we were cutting it close to quitting time for pancake flippers. If you haven’t met one, Lutherans are rather punctual and reserved. We aren’t that kind.

Disclaimer: While my mother-in-law is part of this story, it’s terribly unfair to paint her with untimeliness. (A one hundred percent Norwegian woman, she leaves an hour in advance to drive ten minutes to ensure she has plenty of time to find good parking).

 My husband, my eldest, and I are infamous for squeezing things in at the last minute. We really thought that if we ran down the stairs to the church basement, we’d make it in time for one last batch of fluffy white pancakes, greasy-sweet sausage links and deliciously fake syrup. While there were others mopping up their plates with that buttermilk divinity, we were told, ‘Sorry. The Mother’s Day pancake brunch is done.” 

We are Lutheran enough that we don’t argue when a refusal is prefaced with a “sorry.” Back upstairs, we headed to the car and wondered what other place takes in belated Mother’s Day patrons.

A British pub!  Calling in a panic, we got in touch with our favorite Friday evening neighborhood restaurant, George and the Dragon and our friend Fred, owner and proprietor, all-around neighborhood good guy, fellow school parent, got us a table, even as they were almost closing down. They didn’t have to let us in, but it was really nice. In the good kind of Minnesota nice.  And for every mom, Fred hands out a tomato seedling, ready to be plunked into warm soils of backyard gardens or climbing patio pots. The symbolism of a growing seedling, full of promise if nurtured and tended, is far more symbolic of motherhood than a long-stemmed red rose removed of its thorns. I just can’t even imagine what inspires that symbolism. Fred has the right idea. I just LOVE his tradition of sending moms off with an eager green plant in a brown lunch bag of good dirt.

George and the Dragon does brunch as well as they do battered green beans with mayo. Matched with homemade donuts, we were in joy. I think my mother-in-law enjoyed herself too, as we were all treated to a very punctually delivered feast. And there were still enough tomato plants left for her and me. I took home a lovely little San Marzano tomato plant.