Yesterday was Shrove Tuesday and my Nana duly created a two-course pancake fiesta for me. I'd had a rough day including an abortive relaunch at work, a gruelling and fruitless job interview and being soaked through to my underwear by rain, bus-puddles and the drip in my bedroom. Pancakes were a welcome relief.
For my savoury course, I had pancake rolls stuffed with spinach and ricotta, topped with tomato sauce and parmesan, a sort of pancakey cannelloni. It was very nice, but blisteringly hot from the microwave (?) which also made the pancakes a little bit tough. Sad face. Also I'd love it if my Nana forgot blood pressure for a moment and put some salt in things. On that note, I tested my blood pressure on Tuesday using my grandparent's machine (you can buy them to test your BP whenever the fancy takes you in the comfort of your own home, who knew?) and it's perfect. I win. Hooray!
Following my main course pancake I had pancakes filled with stewed apples and cinnamon with vanilla ice cream (Mackies, which is nice and milky and old-fashioned). It was spoiled only by being forced to watch a program fronted by Ben Fogle, who I hate for no good reason. All in all, rubbish day was saved by decent pancakes. Lesson learnt.
Now however comes the misery and leanness of Lent. I've not given anything up, I'm still trying to think of something that I won't miss too much, but I think I may have missed the point rather?
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