Pancakes for Breakfast

Breakfast of the Birds, Gabriele Munter (1934)

Pancakes for breakfast! That’s not healthy either! I remember my sister squalling at my dad, following his complaints about her having chocolate muffins for breakfast.

But it was a Saturday, this was our routine, after the divorce. Saturday mornings before school, my dad would make me pancakes on the weekends we stayed with him. Not big fluffy American pancakes, but crispy crepes cooked in our buttery, dedicated pancake pan. I remember opening that pan for Christmas, how light and wide it was, with a minimal lip to ensure the most aesthetic of pancakes.

Sat at the breakfast counter I’d wait for him to start cooking, with the pre-chilled batter made just with an egg, flour and milk. The excitement and opportunity of what flavour to have on each, and if I should roll each filled pancake or perhaps this time I’ll fold it tidily into a triangle.

Dusted with sugar that coated my lips, or a squeeze of lemon the acidic juice melting the sugar into a crust. My favourite? Nutella. At least a teaspoon per crepe, dolloped along the pancake.

Probably not healthy at all!