Tosser

Today, as many of you know, is Mardi Gras.  Fat Tuesday.  Shrove Tuesday.  Pancake Day.

To celebrate, Mr WithaY decided to make pancakes.  He's very good at pancakes.  I had already made a mighty fine chicken curry for supper, so as that was finishing off, he whisked up a batch of batter.  You have to give it time, to allow it to rest, before making the pancakes after we'd eaten the curry.

I hope you're following this.

As I was faffing about with rice, Mr WithaY sniffed suspiciously at the milk he'd used for the pancake mix.

"Hm.  I think this might be a bit off," he said, as it sloshed around lumpily in the carton.  He sniffed it, made a face, sniffed it again, then took a swig.  There was some Language. 

He poured it down the sink, and then poked dubiously at the pancake batter.

"Are you going to throw that away as well?" I enquired.

"Nah, it'll be ok."

We ate our curry, which was jolly fine, and after we'd finished, Mr WithaY went out to the kitchen to make the pancakes.  I heard more whisking and stirring noises, then the sad sound of batter being poured down the sink.

"I'll make a fresh batch," he announced.  Well, I stayed where I was, watching House, while the swearing and thumping in the kitchen increased.  It seemed safer.  After a particularly fluent burst of Language, and then some vigorous scraping noises I ventured to ask if things were going well.

It seemed they were not.

Like fruit trees, pancakes can have Good Years and they can have Bad Years.  Reader, I am sorry to say, that 2010 was a Bad Year for pancakes.  They tasted fine, but Mr Withay's fine artistic eye was offended by their lack of symmetry.

It's not like this in Rio, I bet.