I made the perfect pancake. Yes I did. This is no time for reticence.Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday. In Canada we just call it Pancake Day. At least we did when I was growing up - because it really was just all about the pancakes.
The papers today highlighted pictures of indulgent celebration, of excess and gluttony, across the globe. They also subtly mentioned, in their usual, self-deprecating manner, the relatively sobering traditions of the British. On a day when the world is pigging out, they're doing modest dinners of flatcakes with lemon and sugar. Serving up the usual.
In Canada, pancakes are the usual. I decided to go a little wild myself and made an attempt at the British style mentioned above; but after one quick spritz of fresh lemon juice, I realised this pancake was far too fluffy for any mediocre condiments. I rediscovered the jar of imported Maple Syrup - hiding where I hid it from myself, behind the whole wheat fusili in the back of my cupboard - and drowned it.
I wish every Tuesday was dedicated to getting fat.
