Pancakes, Pancakes, Pancakes!

Pancake. Pancake. Pancake.

And so on.

I’ve just filled half a notebook with the word ‘pancake’. Sounds insane, doesn’t it?

There is a good reason. I’m trying to give up pancakes for Lent. Writing the word down is the alternative to making and eating them. I can’t do that any longer.

It all started on last year’s Pancake Day. I had pancakes as usual. It was a casual affair. Sugar. Lemon. Strawberries and choc spread. I had four. Nothing crazy.

But then I made pancakes for breakfast on Ash Wednesday too. Well, I’d bought the flour and the eggs, the lemon juice, the strawberries and the choc spread especially for Pancake Day, and still had some left over (the total opposite of what Pancake Day was meant to be about: getting rid of all that sort of food from your cupboards).

But then I bought more ingredients on Thursday. And Friday. By Saturday, I had pancakes for breakfast and lunch. By the following Tuesday, I was on three pancake meals a day.

I had acquired a liking for not only the consumption, but also the preparation, of the simple pancake. 
I varied the toppings and fillings, continuing my usual diet. Except, for an entire year, every mouthful of food that passed my lips was surrounded by pancake.

Cornflakes? Pancake.

Cheese on toast? Pancake.

Roast dinner? Pancake.

Eating out was straightforward; I’d make the pancakes at home, roll them up and put them in a flask. At the restaurant, once the waiter appeared with the meal, I’d reach into my bag and pull out my flask of pancakes. I’d wrap each bite in pancake goodness.

It did get a bit fiddly at times, and was often messy, but I was hooked. You could say I’d flipped (that’s just a little pancake joke).

What caused this gastronomical obsession? I can’t honestly say. Was it the taste? Was it the simplicity of the recipe? Was it the soft, shuffling sound it makes in the pan when ready? Who knows?

This year, one last time, on Shrove Tuesday, I sprinkled the sugar, drip-dropped the lemon juice, rolled*, and tucked in. I had to say goodbye to my year of madness.
*rolled up the pancake, you understand. No gymnastics for me. 

What will happen when Lent comes to an end? Will I revert back to a pancake fiend? Or will I consume an Easter Egg, then decide every meal must be encased in chocolate? That won’t be convenient. I feel I’ve lost all control. I am a slave to the calendar and the food it determines we must eat based on religious customs many of us have lost the true meaning of (see above, with the cupboard thing).

Perhaps that’s why I did it. An unconscious rebellion against society’s calendar. I could eat pancakes whenever I liked! And I did. And so can you.

But now, I must cease. It wasn’t healthy, for body or for mind. I took things too far. So let this stand as a warning. You consume the pancakes. Do not let them consume you. 

Lauren Johnston writes for fun but will also do it for money if offered. She works as Keeper of the Books (ok, librarian) at a school in London. Her website is here: https://laurenjohnstonwriter.co.uk