It’s Fat Tuesday. I’m just as eager to justify a pancake breakfast as the next gal! And when I told my little munchkins I would make pancakes for them, they both jumped up and down shouting, “pancakes! pancakes!” in unison. I smiled, pleased with myself that I could elicit such joy from my little loves.
Then I set to the task of actually preparing the pancakes. Now, I must preface this by saying, I am not the world’s best cook, by any means; however, I can generally produce the basics: scrambled eggs, pasta, pancakes, potatoes, bowls of cereal. I may not be the best, but I’m not the worst either. Maybe I’d say I’m slightly below average, but I try. Anyhow, pancakes should have been a pretty easy triumph, but there I stood over the stove with dread creeping up my spine as I was getting down to the last of the batter and not one pancake had turned out right. How could I stand to disappoint my little darlings who were still twirling around the living room dreamily in anticipation of their special breakfast treat.
This is how: I cut off the best parts of each pancake, and sliced them into bite-sized pieces. Then I doused them in sugary syrup. And I set them down in front of the kids as though it were the best pancakes ever. They followed my lead, and with chubby fingers wrapped around their forks, dug in.
They LOVED them, and they never knew how horrible they really were. Thank you, sugary syrup, for saving my breakfast disaster.
Happy Fat Tuesday!