Friday, 10 August 2012

Anniversary breakfast pancakes

Firstly, before I get on to all the romantic shit, I need to update you on something.  Turns out, zebra tomatoes aren't meant to be green.  You guessed that right? Well I didn't.  They're all starting to go kind of red now, but still with green stripes, like some sort of Teenage Mutant Ninja Tomato. Terrifying.  Anyway, moving on.

On Sunday it was mine and Ben's 2 year anniversary. Actually, that's a lie, on SATURDAY it was mine and Ben's anniversary.  Or if you listen to Ben, on FRIDAY it was our anniversary.  Really neither of us has a shitting clue, because the original event, two years and 6  4  5 6 days ago, was a bit of a vodka redbull haze.  I probably owe a lot to alcoholism, because if I hadn't subsequently been too hungover to leave his house for three days I might not have been able to convince him how cool I am and encourage this longevity.  Anyway, whether it was Friday or Saturday, the little ratbag managed to book himself a gig on both of these dates and was in the shit either way.  SO, anniversary mark 2 became Sunday.

I really suck at romance. I used to be pretty good at it, but had it knocked out of me by a series of nonchalant suitors back in the day and now I've gone in the other direction.  I once longed to be taken to a fancy restaurant on valentines day, but now the idea of such a thing gives me hives. Ben isn't massive on the fluff either, but occasionally he'll pull a subtle little blinder of a gesture and BAM - I'm the arsehole who didn't do anything. 

He has now got me on both anniversaries, so I really need to up my game.  Next year I'm going all out - balloons, marching band, pinata - I will not be The Shit One again.  I mean, he didn't buy me a pony or anything, but it was one of those little gestures - totally free and unglamourous - that really punches you in the tearduct.  In this case, a card. A handmade card with words in it.  Ben doesn't do cards, with the exception of last Sunday (and also a year before last Sunday) so that made this tiny little thing a massive big thing.

Last year when this happened, I lived in London and he in Norwich, and in my surprise I had to resort to writing 'Happy Anniversary' on my boobs and texting him a picture. This year we live together, so that wasn't going to cut the mustard.  So I resorted to pancakes.  I know, I suck, he wins the battle, but I figure considering he wasn't even there for our actual anniversary I win the war.

As an additional complaint, there is NOWHERE open to eat on a Sunday evening in Norwich. Which bites the big one if your rescheduled anniversary happens to be then. We'd just seen Batman, I'd whipped myself into a ravenous frenzy of excitement, ready to eat something the size of Baine's head, and then a tumbleweed passes me by....and rolls all the way to Jamie's Italian, the ONLY place open, and 'oh sorry, we're fully booked'.  FUCK YOU, JAMIE OLIVER YOU POPULAR BASTARD, WE NEED ANNIVERSARY STEAK.  We had anniversary toast.

Breakfast pancakes

1 cup plain flour
1 cup milk
1 tbsp butter, melted, plus a little for the pan
1 tbsp caster sugar
1 egg
1 tsp baking powder

Mix all the ingredients together, till you have a batter the consistency of....I can't think of a good example....slightly thicker than single cream, thinner than yoghurt. Heat your (non-stick) pan and swirl a small bit of butter or oil around. Dollop a spoonful (I used about a third of a ladle) of batter into the pan and it should go into a satisfying circle.  Then you need to watch for when little bubbles appear on the surface.


Then you flip, and hopefully they'll be a nice golden colour on the underside.  Give another minute or two and you'll be done. Your first ones will be shit though, be prepared for that, it's just a fact.  The rest will be great.  Have the oven on a low heat to keep them warm whilst the production line keeps going.

Serve with maple syrup and other unhealthy things.

No comments:

Post a Comment