With a large griddle heating on the stove, a tiny coffee cup of oil standing nearby (so it was easy to measure one quarter teaspoonful as needed to keep the pan stick free) and three large dinner plates at hand, I was ready for the off. The sugar canister and lemon juice were in Dad's control, for I soon learned small children can do dreadful things with these ingredients if left alone.
And so the fun would begin.We decided before hand who would get the first pancake off the production line, and the lucky chosen one would come close to the dining room hatchway, and watch Master Chef (me) as I dipped another tiny coffee cup into the batter and poured its contents onto the griddle, with a satisfying hiss..I was never a pancake tosser - a large kind of fish slice let me flip them over once the first side started to bubble, and from then on, it was a race to see if the cook or the munchers won each round!.Happy days!
It was Willow's Magpie that called forth these memories, although her illustration is a trifle gory! I can promise you, no blood was spilt in my kitchen on any Shrove Tuesday!
A bloody hand print on the glass?
Things came to a pretty pass
when pancake day turned very sour
and ended when I murdered our
kiddywinks - the dreaded crew
who shouted "More! Two will not do!"
This is dedicated to my kids, who used to demand a constant supply of pancakes until their little bellies were full to bursting! Hehehe! I hasten to add, they are to this day alive and kicking, and as fond of pancakes as ever!