Name a More Classic Pairing Than Maple Syrup and Pancakes. I'll Wait.

I used to have this fantasy when I was 7 or 8. In it, I had successfully convinced my parents to pack up and move our family from New York City to somewhere in Vermont. We'd live in a house with lots of "syrup trees" in the backyard, a dream come true for a kid who ate maple syrup just about every morning as part of breakfast. I imagined taking my plate of pancakes or toaster waffles outside each morning, sitting under the trees as I ate before school.

It wasn't an unreasonable fantasy. Pancakes and syrup have been a part of my identity, my truth, since I was a kid. My great-grandmother, Nannie, had created her own recipe for pancakes, and it was a treasured family heirloom artifact. She passed it along to my mom, who started making them for me when I was a toddler. A weekend breakfast morphed into an after-school snack and a frequent dinner opportunity.

As I got older, pancakes and syrup were my carb-loading meal of choice before long training runs and races, and eating a lot of pancakes became one of the quirks I was most known for in my social circle; a close friend once even brought me back a stack as an edible souvenir from a trip that had included a breakfast joint known for its pancakes. My obsession runs so deep that I even served pancakes, alongside a syrup and topping bar, at my wedding; my husband and I cut into a short stack, replacing the more traditional wedding cake with buttermilk pancakes.

Diving into a stack of fluffy pancakes (because fluffy is key) dipped in syrup conjures up the same emotions for me as a cozy hug. No matter what kind of day I'm having or what the state of the world is, that's the meal that makes me feel like everything is going to be okay. It's a reminder that I'm not alone and — since she passed away two years ago this month — that my mom's always here with me.

Pancakes Aren't Pancakes Without Maple Syrup (Sorry, I Don't Make the Rules)

And as a pancake aficionado, I have some… let's say feelings about how they're eaten, and I think it goes without saying that pancakes must be served with a pool of syrup for them to float in. I don't make the rules — that's just how it goes. Syrup is the linchpin of a strong breakfast or brunch showing, because a bad batch can ruin an amazing spread. While pancakes are my universe, I'm definitely not eating them dry unless I'm so hangry that I literally cannot wait for the syrup to materialize. Dry pancakes are not a thing. Plus, pancake syrup goes great with just about everything else at breakfast — sausage, bacon, the fruit mix that's topping your stack.

Plain Pancakes Are Superior

As for the actual pancakes being served with the syrup, I am and always have been a purist. Much to the chagrin of many of my past dining partners (and the chef who catered my wedding), a plain stack is my forever go-to. Maybe an occasional chocolate chips-dotted pancake if I'm really celebrating, but for the most part, you can leave your berries and your chocolate and your bacon bits and yep, even your banana slices, at the door. Do not come at me with paleo "pancakes" (it's just egg, folks — I tried them) or the fancy ricotta ones. Just… no thank you. Some things in life are sacred, and deserve to remain timeless.

My Favorite Maple Syrup Isn't Pure Maple Syrup (Shhhh, Don't Tell!)

This is a bit controversial, but I'm here to tell you the best syrup for pancakes is not pure maple syrup. I know, I know. (You can imagine my disappointment to learn that as an adult, after I'd undertaken such a vigorous attempt to move my family across states in the name of syrup.) But I always thought that the liquid gold flowing from those maple trees was the same as what sat in my mother's — and now also my — kitchen cupboard: Mrs. Butterworth.

Yes, it's technically fake syrup, but it's light and lovely, and I love a classic. Maybe I feel this way because my mom essentially made Mrs. Butterworth into the guardian of breakfast time when I was growing up in the '90s, reminding me that yes, the bottle — which, at the time, was in the shape of the queen, Mrs. B — sure would come to life just like it did in the commercials, and that Mrs. Butterworth herself would yell at me if I didn't eat all of my food. (Can't blame the marketing professionals for the latter — that creative twist was courtesy of my mom.)

There's something magical about food and certain meals, and the way they can buoy our memories long after the person you shared them with is gone. So, you can keep your pure, artisanal, fancy-pants maple syrups. Mrs. Butterworth is my ride or die, and I won't be swayed otherwise. After all these years, Mrs. B — and syrup in general — has become part of a tradition, and, above all else, a sacred reminder of my mom, my childhood and the connection we still have. And that's no fantasy.

Read more: We Tried 11 Kinds of Pancake Syrup and This Is the Only One We Want for Breakfasts Now