I don’t think Pancake Day really became a part of my life until I lived in the U.K. I thought it was a sweet, whimsical holiday that the Brits invented (they didn’t, by the way. More info on the origins here). But very quickly, it became an annual thing. And then after our kids were born, it became a tasty tradition — one that annually takes us by surprise (I actually didn’t realize it was Pancake Day until yesterday morning), but part of the tradition includes that fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants scramble to get ingredients on a school night and pull this thing off.
I’m happy to report we had success yesterday — and even better, my husband made the pancakes this year.
Our Christmas dinner is always very British – my husband does the cooking and it usually involves a roast rib of beef, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, English trifle or pavlova and it is spectacular!
But Thanksgiving? That’s a whole ‘nother bird. We usually celebrate it with good friends (Americans!) and thankfully, they do the cooking: roast turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, brussels sprouts, sweet potatoes with little marshmallows, pumpkin pie. It’s a familiar, time-tested formula that I’ve looked forward to with pure giddiness since I was a child old enough to slot black olives onto my fingers and pour the gravy. In fact, my appreciation for this very uniquely American holiday has only deepened through the years.
How are you celebrating Turkey Day today? Have a wonderful Thanksgiving celebration!
Last night, we went out for dinner at one of our neighborhood greasy spoons and ordered breakfast.
Eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, biscuits and gravy, pancakes. The whole nine yards.
Before the aforementioned vittles arrived, my husband reviewed the menu, which was an amalgamation of breakfast, lunch and dinner items and then asked, “Wait, are they still serving breakfast?”
Are they still serving breakfast?! Where exactly do you think we are? Welcome to America, my dear.
It’s one of those minor perks that are easily taken for granted, until you no longer have the option.
When I was living in Scotland, I remember how much I idealized the notion of going out for dessert. Just dessert. Not dinner. Not the full meal. Just a slice of pie or cake or ice cream or whatever at a regular restaurant, which was not well-received and I’m still not sure why. I guess restaurants didn’t want to take up space feeding someone dessert when they could be serving a main meal plus starter, drinks and dessert afterward.
Speaking of dessert, I should add that we did have dessert with breakfast. Something that should be illegal called a pie milkshake, which is precisely what it sounds like. They take a piece of pie of your choice (we went with a caramel pecan pie) and blend it into your standard vanilla ice cream-based milkshake. Who knew something so wrong could taste so right? God bless America.