In a tiny kitchen in our flat my mother and I have just lost a small pancake, or a pikelet.
My mother was turning over the pikelets in the frying pan when this little fellow slipped off a spatula and disappeared without a trace.
I doubt we shall ever find it.
I also doubt that our cats have eaten it because at the moment of its falling down they were engorging on their own food.
I share this with you because this is my most bizarre cooking experience to date. It also prompted me to think of various names to our rescuing efforts:
A Pancake Quest.
Du côté de chez crêpe (as in Proust’s Du côté de chez Swann), or A Pancake’s Way.
A Pancake Lost.
A Missing Pancake.
A Pancake Disappeared.
A la recherche des crêpes perdues, or Rememberance of Pancakes Past.
To tell you the truth, I find rather inexplicable this perfect match of pancakes with the title of Marcel Proust’s seminal novel, or its parts. Of course, should we find our pikelet, A Pancake Lost would become A Pancake Regained in a homage to John Milton, though, as I said, I doubt this will be the case.
This reminded me of an exercise Paul McKenna recommends doing to solve the issues people have with handling money without any negative or excessive feelings. You jot down everything you’ve ever heard or thought about money (or love, or anything else), then you substitute it with the word ‘shovel’ and see, if statements still ring true. Or, in our exercise we shall substitute the words “money” and “love” for “pancake”.
The love of pancakes is the root of all evil.
Pancakes don’t grow on trees.
You have to work hard to have pancakes.
I feel guilty because I have more pancakes than my parents ever did.
Money causes pancakes.
Money is pancakes.
If I were really rich, I would be a pancake.
I don’t believe in pancakes.
Pancakes never last.
Pancakes always cause you pain.
Pancake is a bitch.
I could never do a pancake again.
I’m not worth a pancake.