Tosser

My pancake mojo comes and goes, but this year, thanks to the marvellous little pan that Pete gave me for my birthday, the pancakes were a great success. I don’t remember last shrove tuesday, so this one counts as Bernard’s first – certainly the first one in which he has participated.

I made the batter when we got home from the childminder this evening (after a small incident in which he tried to put his cup on the side in the kitchen, and it fell down and gouged a chunk out of his face)^[1] and Bernard had his tea (fish pie followed by yoghurt) as usual. Then when Pete got home, we set up a small blue chair and a table in the kitchen so that the beebee^[2] could watch and join in.

Our production line consisted of me on pan duty, and Pete on filling duty. For some reason, Pete hates it when I flip pancakes, and keeps trying to encourage me to turn them with a spatula. Not a chance, I like flinging them up in the air and hoping to catch them before they do a double somersault. And guess what, Bernard likes it too. He was most impressed by the tricks his mama can do with a pancake.

He was also fairly impressed by his father’s lemon and sugar filling; less so by the ice cream. One new culinary experience per evening is plenty, in his opinion, and that weird cold stuff is, well, cold. Sweet, but cold. He managed to eat one and a half pancakes before getting bored and trying to drag us by the knees back into the sitting room to read him Jabberwocky for the umpteenth time.

For once, the baby had to wait. There were pancakes to be ate, and they were good ones.

1. not really, but judging by the howls you would think it had done major damage [↩]
2. Bernard’s word for baby [↩]