Posts Tagged ‘augie duke’

The Graffiti Princess

Sunday, November 27th, 2011

Graffiti in my house today!!!!!

I was WAY ahead of my time. I liked graffiti. As a teenager, I invited all my friends to draw or write all over the wall in my bedroom. And I, in turn, often wrote on bathroom walls. I am not condoning it — and should be embarrassed by it — but at the time I even boldly signed my name to the thought or poem or whatever I had written. Sometimes at school, which is just crazy if you think about it. I would write something silly like, Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, so FUCK YOU!!!!!! (A regular Emily Dickinson.) And then my signature: “By Fredde Duke.” First and last name. Didn’t want anyone else getting credit. Not that there were many other Fredde’s using the girl’s bathroom.

One day, I get a note sent into the classroom for me. It was from Mrs. Friedman, the dreaded Girls Vice Principal. Uh oh, I thought, better come up with something about why there is so much graffiti around with my name attached. I slowly walked the long halls, head down, trying hard to devise a believable excuse. But somehow I was still cocky and sure-of-myself that I could pull off getting out of trouble. There was no denying the truth. If anyone took a trip to my house on Roxbury, there it would be in big black crayon (not spray paint) — the same raunchy, unoriginal, Roses are Red poem; the one that my mother would not clean off or paint over long after I moved out — and in fact, would leave there for potential buyers to see during the sale of the house.

I’ve yet to come up with a great lie when I head into the Girls Vice Principal’s office. And already seated there is a group of really beautiful girls from my grade. It was like a dream and suddenly you are somewhere else and you’re not sure how or why the dream just changed location or people. I’m still in my head, working out that excuse and not registering what is going on. That’s when Erica Farber’s face comes into focus. We called her Ricky, and she was the faintly elusive, always gorgeous, every-Jewish-boy’s shiksa dream. I also see my friend Janet Rasak, to me the most beautiful girl; exotic, Lebanese, smart, and extra sure of herself, but never stuck-up about any of her assets. And Betty Hakimoglu, so cute, unique, Turkish. I’m in a room with all these beauties when we are told that we are the ones that are up for Princess and Queen, the ultimate prize in popularity and grandness at Beverly Hills High School. Only the greatest of beauties have reigned before. So, I’m thinking, why am I in this group? This must be a prank or some clerical error. But NO, I’m informed that there were SO many votes for me that I will be up for both Princess AND Queen. What the fuck? They say this doesn’t usually happen. I’m scratching my head and mostly relieved that I’m not going to prison for defacing public property. Instead of jailbird, I might be Homecoming Queen. (more…)

Southern Hospitality

Thursday, August 11th, 2011

I am writing this from the Roosevelt, a landmark hotel in New Orleans. I am waiting to be whisked off in a private, air-conditioned bus to my daughter Augie’s best friend’s wedding.

Cody is one lucky daughter. She has a lot of moms, a lot of step-moms, a lot of love.

We met Cody her first week at our grammar school. Cody’s mom, Dell, had put in long days at the school handpicking Augie to be Cody’s new friend. Augie is extra friendly and warm. So is Cody. It was a perfect match. I won’t even say how adorable they were. Cause, you know, it goes without saying.

Dell had just moved with Cody from Pasadena. That first week, she knocked on my door to introduce herself. We stood there trying to get acquainted. She disarmed me by announcing she was a lesbian. And I don’t shock easily. In fact, I’m usually the one doing the shocking. But this threw me — probably because the Palisades is so white and straight. Big American flags adorn many houses. You get the picture. So I was a touch taken aback. I stammered awkwardly, something like, “Oh my, God, I think I should be a lesbian too…because ….you know…. you guys, I mean gals, stay with your partners…. and my husband left me for another woman when I was pregnant with my baby….” I had a fantasy that lesbians were like birds, mating for life. Cody’s mother set me straight (no pun intended). Dell said lesbians are notorious players, and that her relationship with Cody’s other mother had recently broken up. She was in a new one now, and this is why she moved to our area. Whew, good that this conversation was out of the way. All of it taking place right there at my front door in about five minutes. Until now, my family had been targeted as the neighborhood freaks. Jews, single mother, who knows or cares why. So, Welcome to the hood, lesbians!!! Thank fucking God!!!!! Let’s be in this together. (more…)

15 Minutes

Saturday, May 21st, 2011

I’m famous for much longer than 15 minutes. And, I admit, a bit proud of my fame. What, you might ask am I famous for? For calling the principal a cunt!
Uh huh. It’s a story with legs. Why it was at least fourteen years ago that the incident happened. People are still talking about it today. Gotta love that.

I was taught, by example NOT to fear authority. Taught to stand up for myself. When in life I needed to exercise this skill, I did. When it comes to standing up for my kids? Watch fuckin’ out for me. Seriously, don’t mess with my kids, ever! I will go ghetto on you so fast.

My older son had a run in with the principal from our local grammar school that I barely remember. But he might have been in the wrong. He was pretty out there and I didn’t come to his defense.

My daughter Augie was a different story. The principal was totally in the wrong. There had been these elaborate and sexually explicit drawings on a note to some boy. He was Augie’s “boyfriend” at the time. Augie’s name was signed to the note. But, it was NOT penned by Augie. She is incapable to this day (twenty-five years old) of drawing even a stick figure. I too, cannot draw a thing. The family of the boy were alarmed enough to turn this note into the principal. The principal called Augie in to her office to ask her about it. Augie said she didn’t write it, but the principal insisted she did. So I showed up in the principal’s office when I heard about it to confront her. I yelled at her but not in some ghetto way. I was just forthcoming and standing up for my daughter. Augie was being held accountable for something she didn’t do. Augie didn’t have a big enough voice to fully express how wronged she was, but I do. When I went into the principal’s office that day, she put up her hand in my face and snarled through those braces on her teeth “NOT NOW FREDDE!” then she walked away. Very provocative response. Of course it achieved what she wanted. It silenced me. (more…)

Dina and Me, a Relationship in Spanglish

Sunday, May 1st, 2011

me and Dina, on our way to Catalina Island

She read Kierkegaard and Proust while I read People magazine. I realize opposites attract, but we really weren’t all that opposite … although she was definitely more sophisticated than me. Dina Mendosa, who I have now known for 25 years, is from a third world country, Mexico. I am not.

Here is where our relationship started. I received a thousand dollars as a gift from my ex-husband’s rich aunt and was instructed to use it for “help” after giving birth to my second child. I made it last a very long time and ended up moving Dina in to live with us for a few years, but I’m getting ahead of the story.

When I interviewed people for the live-in nanny/housekeeper job, she was not the one I hired first. Dina was far too beautiful and it appeared that there might even be a hickey on her neck. So, I nixed her and hired another person. That person was a no-show and so I called Hickey Girl back and told her the truth. We hired someone else, they flaked — do you still want the job? She did. She came that very day. Good sign. Good start. And the “hickey” turned out to be a birthmark. She wasn’t the slut that I had judged her to be. Not in the least. (more…)

Love Letter to Augie on her 25’th Birthday

Friday, February 4th, 2011

my stunning daughter, Augie

Dear Augie,
It was 25 years ago today that we, all my best friends and I, stood around you at the hospital fighting over just the right name. There was Cordelia or Cornelia, but I had thrown them out of the mix long ago. Theodora, Willemina and variations of Willy remained. But now, it was down to the big ones. Would you be called Phillipa, my favorite British name? Or possibly Paloma? Spanish origin, but maybe too affected. Truly, I was leaning towards Augustine, not Augustina, didn’t want the A at the end. Just the simple Augustine and for short, I knew I would call you Augie. I grew up loving my name and my nickname so much, that I wanted the same for you. For a brief moment, I even entertained the idea of just naming you Fredrica! It makes me happy to know how much you do love your name.

Carrying you around became a huge draw, much better than a puppy; it was like I was carrying baby Jesus. People would come from across stores and streets just to look at you. And of course, you at them. Staring at people became a pastime. You became a great studier of people. As a kid, when movies or stage plays were going on, you would often rush to the front of the first row, turn around and stare back at the audience watching the performance. Your magnetic personality kept building and now often, when you walk into a room, you light it up with your presence. People often ask, “Who is she? Is she famous?”

Augie, eternally smiling and laughing

I should probably mention here how beautiful you are. I can honestly say, I’ve never seen anyone quite as beautiful as you. Truly. I’m not being hyperbolic when I say you are the most exquisite person. You have all (and then much more) of my mother’s drop-dead looks, mixed with my father’s magnetic personality. What a combination! The most important aspect of your beauty, however, is the inner one. Augie, you have zero malice. You don’t even have negative thoughts towards those who might have hurt you. Not a vindictive or mean bone in your body. I’m so impressed with your generosity of spirit. (more…)

The (meant to be) Wedding of the Summer

Sunday, October 3rd, 2010

Tory, the bride, Augie the bridesmaid

In August, I attended my daughter Augie’s best friend’s wedding. In fact, I call Tory my surrogate daughter. When I travel with Augie and Tory, I refer to them both as my daughters.
We met Tory, or rather I spotted Tory, one day when Augie was in first or second grade. She was a tiny thing, a lot like Aug, but she also looked a little lost and in need of a friend. I insisted Augie invite her home that first day. When we called, her mother said yes, provided we also bring home Tory’s brother Jeremy. After this, Tory spent most of her time at our house, on weekends and on plenty of school nights. We “adopted” her as our own.

my daughters, Augie is the birth daughter

Her mother moved to Hawaii with all three of Tory’s brothers and during those years she would spend most of the summer with us. Then her mom moved all of her kids to northern California. But whenever Tory got the feeling that she wanted to be with us, she would hop on a bus and a plane, all alone at 13, leaving a note behind for her mother.
Tory was always the most independent and capable thing; she emancipated herself at 16 years old, graduated college at 19, and just bought her first home at 24. No help from anyone, not ever.
I feel I have to be discreet with Tory’s life in the way that I am not at all with my own life, which is a big open book. The book, “Glass Castle” comes to mind. Should she read it, I know it would resonate with her. Suffice it to say that the family she might not have had then, she has now created in her adoring husband Brian and all of their mutual close friends.
Though Augie had cancelled her wedding this summer (refer to earlier blog piece, “No More Trouble in Paradise or to Marry or Not to Marry,” June, 2010) and was still faintly stunned from her breakup, we rooted and cheered (crying a lot) our Tory along as she put on the most incredible wedding; everything orchestrated perfectly by—who else?–Tory.
The wedding was held at her uncle’s big-ass lakefront home in Tahoe. What a setting! But what a hellacious drive from Reno. Screaming from frustration in hours of senseless traffic while searching for bathrooms…. we finally arrived at our oh-so-groovy hotel in Truckee and were happy campers. On the drive there, we spotted what would become our local spot — and we went there every day for a well deserved meal. It’s the really cool, retro Jax Truckee Diner. It is housed in an original 1940’s diner in downtown Truckee next to the railroad tracks. It appears to have been either updated or really well kept up. Every night after the long day of wedding festivities ( Augie was a bridesmaid, and I was introduced as “the second mother of the bride” ) we would end up at Jax, hungry and fatigued. I would always order the same thing because it was so friggin good — sliders. The menu has all kinds of gourmet choices as well as your typical diner comfort food. I wondered why they would be filled to capacity at 9:30 every night while my own hometown of Pacific Palisades is dead by 9:00, and is starting to resemble a ghost town with all the restaurant & retail store closings. I discovered that Jax was featured on the Food Network show “Diners, Drive-ins and Dives,” hence its immense popularity. The day we left Truckee we ate elsewhere — and speaking of ghosts, we met a real one — but that story will have to wait for another blog.

in Hawaii with my daughters, Augie and Tory

with the girls in Hawaii

Dancing Bears

Tuesday, July 27th, 2010

Fredde and Doreen

Doreen and I have known each other since high school but it took years until we found each other again.  And we have REALLY reconnected.   A lot of us on the “other side of the tracks” in Beverly Hills  (south of Wilshire) gravitated to each other.

Most kids I knew then had the perfect, or seemingly perfect nuclear family; a mother, usually stay-at-home, a father, and 2.5 children.  (Why they never had a complete third child, I don’t know.)  Doreen, though, was being raised by a working, single mother. No father in the picture at all.  She was a latchkey kid before there was a term for it, a girl who cooked her own dinner at a very early age, and who often called her mother when it was getting very late, well past dinnertime, to ask when she was coming home.  She had made a meal and wanted her mommy there to share it with her. (more…)

New Japanese Find For You and Me

Thursday, July 1st, 2010

What is wrong with me? Why do I drive past intriguing places and keep on driving? Or, why do I keep going to the same places because I know them, they are familiar and safe?
My friend, another foodie, Andrea, had made a plan with me last night to try a Japanese restaurant. Then, she kept reading reviews online that scared her straight. This new Japanese usually costs $100 per person. She called me ahead of time to warn me and then told me she really likes this other place on Sawtelle. So now we really have two choices. When I hopped in her car, she navigated her way around the city in such a way as to end up directly in front of the alternative restaurant and not the original terribly expensive restaurant. I still don’t know whether she did that on purpose, but I was hungry and said, lets just go in there. I had seen it before and it called to me. When she mentioned a place on Sawtelle I just thought it was Hide Sushi and I do already go there all the time. I like it but probably not as much as I love Hamasaku, which is my absolute favorite Japanese restaurant in all of Los Angeles. It too is a bit pricey and a bit show bizzy with all the rolls named after investors or regulars and those famous people are always scattered around the restaurant eating the very rolls that sport their name.
This new place that we walked into has a green wall surrounding it, my favorite green, a sort of an olive green. Already a good sign. Then you walk into a courtyard with a sushi/ish bar surrounding a fire pit. So cool. We opted to sit inside, what is up with this summer gloom? Andrea ordered for us at first. She asked what fresh sashimi they had. I have eternal mercury poisoning (yeah, yeah, another blog) so since most choices were tuna related we went for the Tazmanian salmon. I cannot even tell you how fresh and perfect the choice was. I mean I can tell you, I just did!
Then we ordered a few fried things. Popcorn shrimp with spicy mayonnaise. Fried oysters. Just as I was starting to feel a little fry- food -nervous, the adorable waitress with the quirky great sense of humor came over to say that since we really like FRIED FOOD!….we should order the special of the day, soft shell crabs. Then the waitress really laughed as she told us she was impressed with us for ordering so many fried dishes since most people in L.A. are so afraid of it. That only made me feel like I needed to balance this meal with vegetables so we got a seaweed salad.
Then I told the waitress I was completely in love with her and wanted her to date my son Oliver. She is just unique enough, like him. That’s not really true, first she said something about her boyfriend and then I said “oh, that’s too bad you have one because I was going to set you up with my son Oliver.”
Before asking for the check we noticed these small colorful almost Moroccan looking glasses that maybe they served Sake in. I asked to purchase a few. And yes, I have been known in the past to admire what a waitress is wearing and ask to buy the uniform and have it put on my bill. So, this was really nothing new to me and I now own a few of those special glasses. When I walked in with them last night, my daughter accused me of being a hoarder. Guilty, maybe.
The name of the restaurant is Bar Hayama. The address is 1803 Sawtelle Blvd. The name of the waitress is Yumi. In her own words, ” my name is Yumi, you know, like you and me”.
A few other things on the menu: Crispy Rice and Tuna with Balsamic Vinegar Sauce
Sauteed Lobster and Mushroom
Simmered Whole Onion with ground meat amber sauce
Poke Hawaii

No More Trouble in Paradise or…To Marry or Not to Marry, that is the Question

Saturday, June 12th, 2010

The North Shore of Kauai has always held deep meaning for me. It was where I escaped on my first adventure as a newly single woman raising three kids alone. That was nearly twenty years ago. (And it was where, in the early 70’s, I filmed a Lipton Tea commercial — another blog, another time). I was suddenly thrust into single life just as my dad-the-sage had long predicted during the twelve years I spent with Father of My Children.
Our blissful wedding, almost nine years earlier to the day that I was to leave on my Hawaiian adventure, was held on Pico Boulevard in the parking lot of Rent-a-Wreck. Talk about an ominous sign (See blissful wedding day photo.) During the ceremony, various people and probably even my own dad were loudly laying odds the marriage would never last. After the split, I found out no one present gave it more than six months.
On the fateful morning of the Big Reveal (I picked up a phone extension to hear F.O.M.C. listening to The Other Woman reciting love poetry, (GAG) ), I called my dad to tell him that he was right about Mr. Right. He barely reacted. He then informed me that my eternal student/out-of-work husband had once hidden 18 thousand dollars in dad’s bank account and had obviously forgotten about it. My dad told me to help myself to the money.
Eighteen thousand dollars sounded pretty good since it was eighteen thousand more than I had at the time, but I only took nine, choosing to split it with F.O.M.C. So young, so honest, so foolish! Now, with nine thousand in hand, I decided that my kids and I needed ten days in Kauai to recover from a broken marriage. Anything left over would go toward the down payment on a new car. (Yes, this was back when there might be something left from $9,000 after a Hawaiian vacation.) Things were looking up already. I called in a favor from my friend Sherry, whose family owned a hotel on the island. $60 dollars a night, not bad.
I never told my kids that we were going away because I love to surprise them. The night before we were to leave, I waited till they were asleep to pack their bags. Then at 6:00 AM, I woke them to announce we were heading to paradise. It was thrilling.
I brought my gourmet meal to eat on the plane. I was way ahead of my time in doing that. And I’m not exaggerating when I say gourmet. (On a recent flight, I brought caviar and the woman next to me said, “You really travel in style”. The snack cost nearly as much as the coach ticket.) But I let my kids eat the airplane food, since I figured it was okay with them. Airline meals were so lousy they really did us all a favor to end them.
To land on the island of Kauai is like encountering a mirage. Five hours of flying, then you touch down, stepping into beauty and wonder and fragrances so magical they can’t be real. At this point, you’re probably hungry, and if you’re headed where we usually are — the North Shore– you stop at Ono Burger. It’s a not-so-fast-food stand on the ocean side of the road next to a mini-mart, and it’s really good. All the locals go there and you can’t go wrong with whatever you order. And if you do go wrong, who cares? You’re in Hawaii. You sit and eat at a picnic table surrounded by wild chickens and feral cats, and feed them. Everybody does.
On that trip I took my kids on a sunset cruise adventure — obviously suffering a memory lapse about my history of seasickness. The captain of the boat fell instantly in love with me, I’m not sure why, but it probably had something to do with certain men being hardwired to take care of women. I’m extra-small and some men just have a visceral reaction to protect me. (Others step on me – see F.O.M.C.) The attention from Cap’n Jack did a lot for a girl who’d just fled a loveless marriage. But all the Good Captain got in return was vomit on his shoes. Finally, he told me that I needed to jump overboard. At first, I thought he was kidding, but he said it would steady my equilibrium or something and at that point I would have done anything for relief. I jumped. My kids stared as I treaded water, as surprised as the curious sea turtles circling me.
Cap’n Jack, flirt or nurturer that he was, dove in and stuck it out with me. He had his hands all over me, whispering sexy things in my ear. He completely ignored the other guests on the cruise, which was great for my ego but not so great for them. It occurred to me that he might be a bit of a gigolo who thought I was a rich young woman traveling with a babysitter, as I was. Well, then too bad for him. I had just spent my last nine thousand. But for a fleeting moment, I imagined moving to Kauai and a happy-ever-after life as a sea captain’s wife. As you can see, I was clearly starved for attention.
Some nights I would take the kids to Lafferty’s, the amazing local ice cream store. If you go, get the Kona Coffee. But all the flavors are great. It was there, in a bit of foreshadowing of my soon-to-be future life, that I spotted an unusual Rastafarian-looking dog… that I became, not out of character for me, quite taken with. The owner said it was a Portuguese Water Dog. He was chocolate in color and a spectacular-looking creature.
Soon after the well-deserved Kauai vacation with my kids I went on my first date with my future husband. No, he was not a Rastafarian. But he did have a Portuguese Water Dog. That dog, Moby, would also become my dog. Everything fell into place. (more…)


Monday, March 15th, 2010

Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to have me as a mother.  That’s not even true, I am only wondering it right now as I’m about to tell  a having me as a mom story.  So, now yeah, I’m kinda wondering about it.

I’m a big foodie.  Hello? If you’re reading this, you would know that already.  Sometimes I have cravings that just have to be sated.  It could be late at night, so, my kids might be in pajamas, I don’t think I ever woke them up to go on this adventure but it would make the story more fascinating.  But, I like the truth, so here it is.

It would be close to 10:00  at night and the kids  were in pj’s planning on a good nights sleep when I would announce they needed to get “all dressed up” because we were going to Spago for Kaisershmarren.  And MY kids  knew what that meant.  The step-kids will be putting me  and my shenanigans in screenplays and short stories for years to come because of these adventures.   We would all then put our finest clothes on, I would pack up the minivan and head to the fanciest restaurant in Beverly Hills.  We were like the Beverly Hillbillies only sans the newfound money.  Clearly I couldn’t afford to really take them all out to eat at Spago but I never liked the real food there anyway, I love the dessert they have called Kaisershmarren. And if you need “sightings” there really are enough when you arrive at 10:00.  In those days Tony Curtis could be found in the bar area where we were ordering and eating our dessert.

I learned the trick of just ordering dessert in the bar area after I realized all I really love to eat at Spago is the Kaiserchmarren.  I know you’re thinking how many times can I say Kaiserchmarren in one little story.  There is no contest; I just like to say it.

One time, before the famous pastry chef Sherry Yard came out with her book that has the recipe, I was introduced to her.  Sometimes when I’m eating at extremely random great restaurants around the world I run into this guy I know named Andy.  He happens to be married to a famous chef from New York and he is a huge foodie that seems to “know the world”.  He was eating with Sherry Yard this one night , and brought her to my table so I could wax poetic about her talent and well, mainly about my love of Kaiserchmarren.   I didn’t hesitate to ask her for the recipe and she assured me that very soon her cookbook would be published and in it I could find the recipe but that she really shouldn’t give it out until then.  Enjoy the recipe, it took me long to transcribe, it looks too hard for me, so if you are in L. A. I suggest going to Spago and ordering it.emma, barnaby


For the strawberry sauce

2 pounds, 2 ounces strawberries, hulled and quartered

¾ cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar

¼ cup water

¾ cup fresh orange juice from 3 medium oranges

1 star anise, lightly toasted

1 tablespoon grand marnier

For the pancakes

Softened butter for the pans

9 tablespoons sugar, plus more for dusting the pans

4 egg yolks at room temperature

¼ cup fromage blanc (available at gourmet markets)

¾ cup crème fraiche

2 tablespoons dark rum

¼ cup all-purpose flour

2 tablespoons fat raisins ( I wouldn’t add the raisins and I don’t taste them in it )

8 large egg whites

½ teaspoon cream of tartar

¼ cup confectioners sugar for dusting

  1. make the strawberry sauce:

set aside 2 cups of strawberries and the 2 tablespoons of sugar In a heavy saucepan, combine the remaining stawberries, the water , the ¾ cup sugar, the orange juice, star anise, and Grand Marnier.  Bring to a boil over medium heat.  Stir occasionally to prevent scorching.  Reduce the heat and simmer for 10 minutes.

  1. Remove from the heat and cover with plastic wrap.  Allow to infuse for 10 minutes, then remove the plastic and discard the star anise.  Cover with plastic again and allow to sit for 2 hours.
  1. Pass the sauce through a fine-mesh strainer and set aside, or refrigerate if not using right away.
  1. Make the pancakes:  Place a rack in the middle of the oven and preheat the oven to 400 degrees.. Generously butter two 9 or 10 inch 2 inch deep ( recommend pyrex) pie pans or round cake pans.  Add a heaping tablespoon sugar to each pan and tap and turn the pans to dust evenly.  Tap out any excess sugar.
  1. In a medium bowl with a hand mixer, beat the egg yolks with 2 tablespoons of the sugar until the mixture is light and lemony yellow.  Beat in the fromage blanc and scrape down the bowl and beaters.  Beat in the crème fraiche and rum and scrape down the bowl and beaters.  Beat in the flour and raisins. ( eeuu, I so wouldn’t add those raisins )  Set aside.
  1. In a bowl, beat the egg whites on medium-low speed until they foam, then add the cream of tartar.  Turn the speed up to medium and continure to beat while streaming in the remaining 7 tablespoons of sugar, a tablespoon at a time.  Beat the whites to medium stiff peaks.
  1. Whish half the egg whites into the crème fraiche base.  Gently fold in the remaining egg whites.  Divide the batter between the two pans.  Bake for 15 minutes.  Turn the pans 180 degrees and bake for another 5-8 minutes, until puffed and brown.  The center should be pudding-like.
  1. Finish the sauce:  Meanwhile, in a large skillet, bring the strawberry sauce to a boil over high heat.  Add the reserved 2 tablespoons sugar and stir until the sugar has dissolved.  Add the reserved 2 cups strawberries and heat through, then divide among the serving plates.
  1. When the pancakes are done, remove from the oven and,  using a serving spoon, divide each one into 6-8 portions.  Place 2 portions on each plate and dust with confectioners sugar.  You can also arrange all the portions on a platter, with the sauce and serve family style.  Serve immediately.