Pancakes

So tomorrow is Shrove Tuesday, and while I'm not sure what 'Shrove Tuesday' actually is, what is more important is that it is NATIONAL PANCAKE DAY over here in England. We'll ignore the fact that English pancakes are like crepes, which is just stupid, but there is an entire day dedicated to quite possibly my favourite breakfast food. PANCAKES.

Clearly, I will be celebrating. Sean and I bought all of the fixings for blueberry pancakes (American style, because clearly we got this one right) and we are going to be having them for dinner tomorrow night.

There is something magical about breakfast for dinner. I remember my mother making pancakes and bacon for dinner like it was a special treat. I don't particularly care that she might have been to tired or couldn't be bothered to think of a 'proper' dinner, when we had pancakes for dinner (or "brinner" because I'm just about the coolest) it was an event.

Having breakfast for dinner was like breaking all the rules. Dinner was a strictly savoury meal, generally consisting of a main course with meat, and some sort of vegetables on the side. Getting sweet, buttery, delicious pancakes was like defying some higher authority. It felt like some kind of secret club, and we had the power. Who says you can't have pancakes at 8 pm? Screw those guys, they don't know what they're missing out on.

My mother would always make pancakes from Bisquick (something that I am struggling living without while over in England). She went through her fancy stages, we would get pancakes with blueberries or banana and caramelised walnuts in them (my sister does a rendition with blueberry and strawberry that would make your heart sing), but there is nothing quite like a straight up, hot off the griddle, plain ole pancake. I think that because of this pancake love, this quiet little revolt against the dinner gods, I am just that much  more excited for National Pancake Day tomorrow. And when I go to take that first bite, I'll be toasting my mom.