These were requested long ago, and oh how I’ve been looking forward to making them. Blintzes remind me of my father’s mother — not because she liked to make blintzes, but because she enjoyed eating brunch in the kinds of places where blintzes were popular in Chicago in the 70’s: grand hotel dining rooms, old-school restaurants…pretty much anywhere you could find classic Continental cuisine and waiters in tail coats. I can’t remember where I ate my first blintz, but I remember it was served by a gloved hand, neatly placed on a small silver dish with a drizzle of blueberry sauce. I was probably about six and had no idea what it was. I only knew that it represented good living, and that was enough for me.
Of course there’s really nothing high-falutin’ about a blintz. They’re Central European comfort food. But in my mind they’ll always be associated with water goblets, table side service and breakfast in a tie. And of course with one truly great lady that everyone knew as Mudge.