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Pannekoekken

So I’m pretty great. Disappointing biscuits notwithstanding, I’m definitely pretty great. Ask anyone.

Saturday morning breakfast is a good time to show how great I am. M’s like “I’m thinking of pancakes for breakfast.” And I’m like “Let me cover you there, dude: I’ve not mastered pancakery yet and I want to show how great I am.” So he’s like “Go.” So I totally did.

Pancakes aren’t glamourous food, but screw you: they’re tasty, fun and happy. And I usually make the batter to thick and have the pan too hot, so I burn the butter and you end up with doughy burnt-butter cakes. But not anymore.

BASK IN MY TRIUMPH

Eggs, milk, vanilla and a dash of lemon juice to help acidify the mix. Let it sit for a bit while you whip together some Ghetto Marmalade:

Marmalade knows what's what. BASK I SAY.

Zest of one orange; chopped juicesome flesh of two; generous pinch of sugar: simmer it all until it becomes thick and slightly caramelised (by which I mean don’t let it burn). There’s your sexy orangey pancake sauce right there.

Back to your batter: flour, bicarb soda, baking powder, sugar. Whisk it together, fairly thick. Melt butter in the frypan — what the hell am I doing? The world doesn’t need my pancake recipe. You’ve got your own. Serve with whatever you want: I personally love hot fruit, yoghurt and honey.

Maximum awesome. BASK.

Suffice to say, without being as great as me, you’re never going to reach these heights, not even with the perfect recipe. Sad but true: sucks to be you. Now go find some other way to be incredible, I’ve got pancakes to make.

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