Every February – or occasionally March – I get together with two friends to gorge on pancakes; I provide the pan, Caro does the cocktails and poor old Harry is invariably the chef because she never fails, even three ciders in. With two half-Frenchies in the room, we always start with buckwheat galettes, usually served complète with gruyère, ham and a fried egg (though the more we eat, the more adventurous the combinations become). Then we move on to softer, thicker British sweet pancakes with lemon juice and crunchy demerara sugar to finish. We rarely manage to meet on Shrove Tuesday itself, but apart from the year I went vegan for Lent, that’s no problem. After all, any cold, dark evening is improved by a pancake party.
I suspect we’re not alone in sticking with the classics, so I’m not going to suggest too many alternatives, but, given that pancakes are not just for the 47th day before Easter, I do like the sound of Nigel Slater’s ones stuffed with cheese and caramelised onion, I know I’d love Yotam Ottolenghi’s Austrian kaiserschmarrn and, though they’re as flat as they sound, Jimi Famurewa’s Nigerian-Dutch puff puff pancakes look incredible. Oh, and there’s Meera Sodha’s Indonesian-style salted peanut and chocolate pancakes, while Claire Ptak’s fluffy cardamom pancakes with thyme-spiked figs certainly aren’t just for Christmas.
