This is a beaut of a recipe. I had all kinds of ideas for tonight’s savoury pancake dinner, (they were going to be rolled, stuffed and sprinkled with three different cheeses), but when it came to it, we were tired, it was late and actually this tasted even better (like a pancake version of creamy cannelloni) and was quick to rustle up.
- Make a basic pancake batter
- Make a cheese sauce
- Fry the pancake, toss it
- Sprinkle with ham, spoon some cheese sauce over, add some chopped spring onions & sun-dried tomatoes, grate some cheese on top
- Fold and serve.
Grandma’s last day with us. She is reading last night’s blog post on Coconut Pancakes. “Oh what a lovely picture!” I glance over her shoulder. She’s looking at a picture of a cake. “That’s someone else’s blog, mum,”
Grandma observantly points out that most of my food pictures exhibit the same grubby wipe-clean table cloth, and the same worn plates that she rescued from a car boot sale. We decide that this warrants a trip round the chazzas, (we come from a long line of charity shop lovers).
The kids are given £6 each from grandma and we set off for Wymondham, well known for it’s array of charity shops, in particular the one at the top of the high street which only sells toys. (I have condensed three hours of our lives into that paragraph. Getting out of the house was hell. Both children lost their six pounds several times over before even getting in the car).
Once in Wymondham, Ollie makes us race from one charity shop to the next, never content with the tat on offer. Daisy, on the other hand, is an old hat at this, and uses her money to ‘rescue little ones’ and take them home. The first one, a toy monkey, I don’t object to, but by the second, a porcelain doll in 1950s Christmas garb, the size of a toddler, I remember why so may of her little ones have had to take an extended holiday to the loft.
Ollie remains disgruntled about the lack of Lego on offer, and it’s ruining our ability to browse. I see grandma, out of the corner of my eye, darting upstairs to the book section. “Why don’t you go upstairs?” I whisper conspiratorially, “There might be treasure.” He scampers off, but I pay the price five minutes later with a short, sharp punch to the ribs which nearly sends me to the floor. “You lied, mummy! There is no treasure!” “Books can be treasure,” I breathlessly retort.
Grandma ushers us out of the shop and announces she needs a coffee. Shopping has never been so stressful. I look at the coffee shop next door with its teetering displays of china and come out in a cold sweat. One last charity shop then we’ll stop for a drink.
In Age Concern, Grandma and I dash off in opposite directions. We know we have exactly fifteen seconds before Ollie realises there’s no Lego and demands to go. He doesn’t appear, instead a high-pitched beep is being omitted across the store at five second intervals. The elderly clientele look up alarmed. I pass it off as a faulty fire alarm until I see Ollie waving a hand-held metal detector. He is sweeping it over the merchandise looking for metal. He is very happy and demands to buy it. Before I’ve even had time to collect my receipt, Ollie has climbed into the window display and is stroking the mannequins with the detector, hoping to find metal buckles and buttons.
I drag him outside but things are no better on the street. He is scurrying along, hunched over his metal detector and I’m having to hold his hood like a lead. He is madly sweeping the street, letting off loud beeps every time he touches a drain pipe, or manhole cover. Outside the pub the detector goes mad over a metal dogs’ water bowl. Ollie has become a menace to the public. There’s a big scuffle outside the coffee shop and it takes two adults to remove the device off him. Daisy is loving it, we, on the other-hand, have never needed caffeine so much in all our lives.