For the longest time I thought popovers were A) Australian and B) something my Mom made up, cause she’s Australian. With four kids, she made us popovers every weekend. One side of the muffin pan with cheese for my older brother and middle sister, the other side plain so my youngest sister and I could stuff Mom’s gooseberry jam in it. We’d collectively holler “Popovers!!” and she’d throw everything in the blender while we watched. Fast, easy and all fed, to tear off to the clay banks and run amok in the sagebrush where the old railway line once ran. Growing up in the 80’s fucking ruled.
And, like Jesus on toast, this popover looks like the female reproductive system.