Let Them Eat Pancakes

I don't quite know why flour, eggs and milk mixed together should taste so good, but I've always had a thing for pancakes. Shrove Tuesday was always a big deal at home, even without celebrating Lent. My favorite tradition was watching the BBC children's TV programme Blue Peter, in which the unsuspecting latest presenter would have to make a pancake live on air!
To Americans this may sound a little flat, if you pardon the pun, but I'm not talking those spongy frisbees you eat for breakfast. Our pancakes are like small French crepes and often quite tricky to make. The challenge is to flip them over without a spatula. You shake the crepe to the edge of the pan, then with a quick flip of the wrist launch it into the air and watch it float back delicately into the center of the pan to finish cooking the other side.
Over the years I've had pancakes that fell on the cooker, pancakes that stuck to the pan and pancakes that end up looking like scrambled eggs. Note: they only stick to the ceiling in comedy shows. Some come out as large as a dinner plate, others as small as a penny. I'll tell you, it's not as easy as it looks.
When I first visited America 30 years ago, I fell in love with the International House of Pancakes. (Remember I was very young and foolish). To this day I'll never know why they are international, or why I even liked them. The pancakes are thick and floppy with no real taste, which explains why you have to slather them in butter and maple syrup. But I can't stop my affection for the place. We even went there on Sunday morning, and yes, it was just as dreadful as ever.
Today I'll be flipping my own pancakes, stacking them up with lemon and sugar to eat later on today. It's a recipe that translates easily to this side of the pond, but one thing will be missing. A family to share them with....