A friend on Facebook posted about having delicious pancakes at her mother’s today and I thought to myself, “Self, it’s been too long since you made pancakes. DOOOOOOOIIIIIIT.”
So dressed I got, which due to a seized neck was exciting and challenging (pants today, tomorrow the world!), and off I went to the corner store for some ingredients.
The only ingredients I actually required were the milk and the eggs. Everything else was already on hand.
The sugar and chocolate are for a delicious syrup substitute an internet friend gave me the recipe for years ago. Chocolate gravy! It is delicious and sweet*!
I also bought a candy bar to provide much needed fortitude to get through the cooking process.
And, for your amusement, the recipes:
That’s right. My pancake recipe is scribbled on an unopened Air Miles envelope. I have no idea what’s in there. Advertisements and an offer to get a card, probably. This is the recipe I’ve been using for SEVEN YEARS. You might think I’d have bothered to transfer it to something more practical.
YOU’D HAVE THOUGHT WRONG.
Cooking, in progress:
I also cooked up some bacon. This is a Big Deal™. I have bacon fears. I’ve been working on them. I didn’t have a single anxiety attack!
You don’t have to be proud of me, it’s all good***.
All of that turned into all of this, shortly thereafter:
I served myself, and lo, it was delish.
In completely unrelated news, tonight the moon will be full (in Libra, if anyone cares), and it is near its perigee (the point in orbit nearest earth). The last time this happened while the moon was full, it was 1993. I’m hoping the sky is clear by moonrise (7:55pm according to the internets) so that I can get some fun photos. We’ll see how that works out.
*Sadly, it turns out that Mr. B is not a fan of chocolate gravy. But it’s good to know. Once cooled, it would probably be a delicious sauce for ice cream. Or maybe not. The main ingredient is sugar. That stuff is uber sweet.
** My blinds are crooked. I hadn’t realised. I’ma have to go fix them now.
*** As a teenager, I was witness to the terrifying powers of hot bacon grease. There was bubbled linoleum, peeled countertop laminate, and a very badly burned hand attached to an understandably upset parental unit. For more than ten years if I wanted bacon, I either went to a restaurant, or I coerced a friend to cook it for me. It hasn’t been until the last couple of years that I have been braving the cooking of bacon on my own again.