Some Pride, Some Prejudice, and Some Pancakes
Happy Belated Pancake Day!
Ok... ok... I know that's not the technical term for the last Tuesday in February (Shrove Tuesday! Mardi Gras!), but being the heathen that I am, I feel inclined to limit my acknowledgments to PANCAKE DAY.
I was too perturbed yesterday, what with the misogynistic actions of the South Dakota State Legislature and all, so I felt it best to leave my poetic pancake waxings to another day. And that lucky day is today!!
So, like many of you, I was craving those wonderful spheres of fluffy yumminess all the live-long day. But alas and alack, I was unable to partake in any of the 650 gagillion pancake breakfasts/lunches/dinners offered around the city owing to the facts that a) I am not a religious person and therefore have no connections with any church... and b) I had to work from 8am until 8pm, and thus effectively missed every one of those damn breakfasts/lunches/dinners anyway.
So I craved, jonesed, whatever you want to call it... until 8:30pm... sweet, wonderful 8:30pm, when I arrived home (my sparkling, pristine, just-released-today copy of Pride and Prejudice clutched in my hot little hand) and proceeded to commence the crafting of my very own batch of the coveted flap-jacks.
It was as if the stars had aligned just for me and my pancakes: JUST the required amount of baking soda left; my big cast-iron skillet finally cooperated with my stove and me to heat up to the perfect pancake-cooking-temperature, and not a degree more; and I managed (without any real effort, I might add) to pour the batter to the proper size so that the recipe actually made the coveted EIGHT medium sized hot-cakes.
I temporarily considered getting adventurous and adding something crazy like corn or raspberries (not together of course), but quickly threw that idea aside. No. This night was a night for unadulterated fluffiness.
So I poured and then carefully watched the batter for the signal that the first side is cooked- the infamous popping of the surface-bubbles, got out my trusty flipper, and flipped away- with flare even. And then they were ready.
So there's Tobin and I, quarter after nine in the evening, situated on the comfiest-futon-in-the- world, huddled over our respective plates, positively maowing down on buttermilk pancakes soaked in butter and maple syrup, whilst avidly watching the hate-to-love progression of Elizabeth Bennett and Fitzwilliam Darcy (oh yes- his name really is Fitzwilliam, even though it's not mentioned in the book... an Austen expert tells me it is so...). Who could ask for more really?
So here's to Pancake Day, whatever your religious affiliation! And here's hoping you all got some!
(pancakes that is... get your brains out of the gutter. Geez)