(Theme: finding the drama in....pancakes?)
We've wanted them for days, keep talking about breakfast for dinner or breakfast for breakfast, but we've always got an excuse: we slept in too late, we don't have syrup, we ran out of mix, making the batter by hand is too much work.
Until one roommate finds us a new recipe: peanut butter pancakes.
"I'll make the batter if you cook them."
Sure. Why not?
But by the time the batter is done the oven is not set to warm, so we wait. And by the time the oven is heated the batter is thicker because it's been sitting in its bowl on the counter uncovered.
I could blame all three of us for not thinking of putting it in the fridge. I could blame the peanut butter for thickening the mix. I could blame our shitty pans, our apartment stovetop, my mood that night, the brand of no-stick spray.
In the end, there is no one to blame for the batter-y centers and scorched exteriors of our experiment No one but our cravings, because there is no such thing as the perfect pancake.
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