March 18th, 2006

banana: i am a banana

The Pancake Incident, or why I won't be appearing on Iron Chef anytime soon

On Thursday night, Mum and I started talking about pancakes. She was going to make Dad pancakes the next morning, like she does every single morning. [I'm not kidding. Really.] We started talking about the chocolate chip pancake the waiter used to give Jeffrey and me whenever we went to IHOP, and I talked Mum into mixing some chocolate chips with some pancake mix and leaving it out for me so I could make them when I woke up. She did.

I woke up yesterday morning thinking, "I can do this. How hard can this be?" I decided I wanted two pancakes, so I turned on the stovetop, found the pancake batter, and buttered the pan. Then I poured the batter on the now-hot pan. While it cooked, I decided to save some time and hunt for a plate and cup. After I found said plate and cup, I turned back to the stove. Tiny curls of smoke were emerging.

Oh dear. I grabbed the spatula and peeked at the underside of the pancake. It was ready, so I turned it over. Half of it was nearly black. Then I looked at the heat setting. It was on high. That would explain a bit. I turned it down to medium and let the rest of the pancake cook. The other side was beautiful.

When I cooked the second pancake, however, I looked at it and said, "Yeah, that's ready." So I flipped it over. It nearly broke from the pressure. Luckily, I flipped the pancake over from the other side and all was well.

This morning, on the other hand, is another story. I still had enough batter left for two pancakes, but somehow all the chocolate chips had settled to the bottom. So when I poured the batter for the first pancake in the pan, I saw equal amounts of chocolate and batter. I watched the unusually large pancake cook. When I thought it was time to flip it over, I stuck the spatula under the pancake, only to be greeted by a mass of chocolate goo. I waited as I wiped the spatula clean. I tried again. It worked...until the pancake broke. Grr. I cut the pancake into parts and flipped each part over individually. Success.

The second pancake was worse, if that's possible. I wanted to use the rest of the batter (because, really, who else would eat chcolate chip pancakes?), so I poured all of it in the pan. The resulting pancake was skinny and huge. I let it cook until it was time to flip it over. When that time came, though, it broke--even worse than the first pancake did. I cut it apart and flipped each part over individually; while it cooked, I poured myself a glass of milk and grabbed some chocolate syrup. Then I smelled it again. That distinct (and now familiar) smell of smoke curling above the pan.

I ran to turn the stove off and started to salvage what I could. I managed to salvage half a pancake; the rest was black beyond edibility. Sigh. I did eat what I could (the chocolate milk helped), but that's why you won't be seeing me on Iron Chef anytime soon. It's okay; Jeffrey wanted to be a chef at one point, and he still asks me to make ramen noodles for him when I'm here!
writing: in blood

I wrote a poem! [gasp]

That's right.  I wrote a poem.  I had just written eight pages in Dr. Nbook when the poem just came out.  For someone like me who usually sticks to prose, a poem is rather remarkable.  Or something.  Here we go!

A Windfall of Words

Words dripping from the pen
like ink from a well
or milk from a jug
Watch them write themselves on paper
This is what I want.

Words oozing from the paper
like mud from a stream
or cream from a jar
Watch them wait at the outer edge
This is what I crave.

Words waiting at the edge
like kids from a play
or men from a war
Watch them fill the world around me
This is what I miss.