Pancake day (noun) –
the most superior day of celebration.
Of all 365 days, Pancake day is the culinary pinnacle of the year – the allure of sweetness is certainly not something to be passed on. My incessant augmenting enthusiasm nearly overflowed as the tempting scent of sugar wafted up the stairs when the first rays of light breached my window pane.
Leaping out of bed, I took the stairs two at a time, skidding to a halt in the kitchen… where I was met with a horrifying sight.
The loud chomp of the final bite rang mockingly in my ears as I saw the last golden-brown fluffy cloud disappear into my younger brother’s mouth. I looked in outright disbelief as he calmly licked the maple syrup from around his lips and wiped his face on the back of his hand. I was rooted to the spot; his selfish actions infuriated me – in what part of his contorted, convoluted, and confused mind did he think that he had the audacity to not save me one?
Despite the preposterousness of the situation, I realised that I could make my own, but my cooking skills were far inferior to my mother’s pancake rèpetoire. Frantically, I looked around – where was she? But I was too late; the irksome jangle of the keys at the door marked her hasty departure to work.
My brother, apparently oblivious to my plight, exited the room, and I was left alone in the kitchen to cook my own pancakes, hoping that my abysmal cooking skills would not hinder me on this exciting day. It was fair to say that Pancake day was not off to a good start.
Peering around the pile of washing up my brother had left, I set about gathering ingredients… only to find that there was a distinct lack of flour, and only one already slightly battered egg left. Furiously, I grabbed my phone and agitatedly typed a message to my mum. This was unacceptable – she knew that Pancake day was the one celebration I truly enjoyed, and now it was on the edge of complete ruin, expectations crumbling.
Pushing aside the large pile of revision I had promised myself I would finally start on, I set out on a mission, departed from the house (still in my pyjamas I might add) and embarked on the short trek to the one shop the village possessed. I did not notice the blatant stares that were thrown in my direction, nor the smirks that followed me as I continued on my journey in my bright pink fluffy slippers.
Finally, I arrived at my destination: the co-op.
It was closed.
I ran back to my house, anger clouding my mind as this utterly risible situation incessantly sprinted through my head. How hard was it to get pancakes on pancake day?! I had almost completely conceded to the idea that there would ultimately be no pancakes today, until my phone pinged, and a message appeared from my mum:
“We will be having pancakes tonight. Don’t worry”
This was accompanied by a laughing face emoji, but I didn’t see the amusing side of the situation. I resolved that I was going to be there in the kitchen as soon as my mum stepped through the threshold of the front door. With this resolution, I sincerely hoped that the next celebration would be significantly more successful. At least Easter eggs don’t need cooking….
By Gemma Bridges