Wednesday 22 February 2012

Is it a pancake or a potato?

  Going by all the Fb posts, everyone enjoyed a pancake or two and why not? It’s one of the easiest recipes to make; flour, eggs and milk. Even an undomesticated devil like me can manage a batter mix and I did last weekend. Had all the toppings known to man and jar, and a smoking hot frying pan. Even the smoke alarm couldn’t ruin this fry off. And it didn’t (and you thought I was going to say otherwise; shame on you). But they say the proof is in the tasting and if I say so myself, they tasted pretty good but then there was more topping than pancake as maple syrup oozed out all over the plate and another pancake was required to mop it all up (better than licking the plate). And then I made the fatal mistake of asking how they tasted, only to be told that they weren’t as good as a friend’s. Well that was it. I declared that from that day onwards, I would never cook pancakes again.  Bit harsh when Pancake Day was only round the corner. But it takes a huge amount of effort for an undomesticated devil to conjure up anything in the kitchen and the slightest comment that is nothing but 100% positive will be nothing less than death to that dish.
    The undomesticated devil does not do these things out of the kindness of her heart. They are done because they have to be. Life is too short for cleaning, cooking and housekeeping. Even when the pile of ironing gets confused with Ben Nevis, it doesn't bother the undomesticated devil. It's a challenge to see if it can get so high, it has its own weather system. The single undomesticated devil may get away with an ironing pile the size of Mount Everest as there's no one to nag about a particular shirt/trouser/top that has to be washed and ironed two minutes before they need to be worn because they're going out and you didn't know this as telepathy has not yet reached your skills set.         

      However, moments of splendour do materialise. A New York cheesecake was made by my fair hands a few years ago for a Summer BBQ. It was a sight to behold as the cracked top hinted at the soft, creamy centre. The devastation left behind in the kitchen was testament to the effort, blood sweat and tears that went into this monster creation.  And of course you do not make something like that without expecting some sort of compliment or two, or three. The way it was being demolished was compliment enough until hubby declared that it wasn’t as good as Tesco’s. Needless to say, I haven’t made one since!

So on Shrove Tuesday, I didn’t make the pancakes. Hubby was home and when he’s home, he does the cooking because:

A: He enjoys it. (I like to think this. Whether it’s true or not is another matter).

B: I switch off from the kitchen when he’s here. (I would like to switch off from it when he’s not here but there’s not enough Pot Noodles in the world to sustain No 1 son).    

C: If I do cook, the mess in the kitchen causes hubby’s hair to fall out (well he needs some excuse for the thinning top).  

D: There’s not a single spoon left for his cup of coffee as every single utensil has been used. In fact, every pot, pan, bowl, cup and saucepan litters every work top.

     Recognising these points, I feel I’m doing hubby a favour really which should be much more appreciated.  

      Hubby served up the pancakes, thick and fast; literally, as our son commented that as he cut into the thick pancake, it was like cutting into a potato.  I could see exactly what he meant as the pancake was so thick, it could have been mistaken for a waffle or even a badly cooked sponge and no amount of maple syrup or chocolate sauce would be enough to drench it. So now it’s not only me who will no longer be cooking pancakes.  


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