The Story of St. Pancake

One dreary day, the family was stuck inside with nothing to do. It was too cold to go outside. Or maybe it was too hot. Or maybe there were bears, nobody really remembers. 

What we do know is that it was late afternoon, and Pam, Jack, Daddy and Papa were sitting around the living room, bored, grumpy, silently sulking.

“Gruff!” Latke, the dog, barked out in her sleep.

“Grrrr-idddllle!” Fritter Critter, the other dog, barked in response.

“Hush, puppies!” Daddy ordered.

“All right, look,” Papa announced. “Just ‘cause we’re stuck inside doesn’t mean we can’t have fun!”

“Well, what are we gonna do?” Jack asked dramatically, as always. 

“I'm glad you asked -- we’re gonna . . . make pancakes! And we’re eating them for dinner! And as an added bonus, I'm going to put something special in them!” Papa replied, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Pancakes!" Everyone’s ears perked up. Special? Pancakes? For dinner??

Papa bounced off to the kitchen to get the batter going, leaving everyone else wondering about that special ingredient. What would it be? And what should it be? They all glanced around the room, the same sneaky idea flickering across their faces.

"Well, I'm going to my room to read," said Jack, with a flourish.

"I have to wash some clothes," exclaimed Daddy.

"My soccer ball's not going to kick itself," laughed Pam.

And away they all went, looking as casual as possible.

In the kitchen, Papa had whipped up the batter. The secret to his famous pancakes was giving it a few minutes to settle, so he set a timer for 10 minutes and went to take the dogs out for a tinkle.

Not one minute after Papa left, Jack appeared in the kitchen, somehow already dressed entirely in black. Quickly and quietly, he reached into his hidden stash of leftover Halloween candy to grab a bag of jelly beans. Plop, plop & plip! In went the beans, where they sank out of sight. Then drop, roll & zip! Out went Jack, who did the same.

No sooner was he gone than Pam glided into the kitchen. Peering into the bowl and seeing only batter, she darted over to the cupboard. Opening the jar of peanut butter, she dropped a gigantic scoop right into the bowl. In one motion she licked the spoon, flipped it deftly into the sink, put the jar back where it belonged, closed the cupboard door with her elbow, and slinked back out the way she came.

As the peanut butter disappeared into the batter, Daddy peeked into the kitchen. Seeing no one, he opened the fridge. Being a nutritious fellow and generally preferring the savory option, he took out corn, broccoli, onions and cheese. Down into the batter they went, and out of the room snuck Daddy.

The kitchen was empty once more. The bowl, not so much.

The timer buzzed just as Papa was coming back inside. He peered into the mixing bowl. It seemed fuller than when he left . . . was the batter rising? In any case, it was time to make the cakes, and to add his surprise! Smiling to himself, he added the special ingredient: a heaping handful of rainbow sprinkles.

Butter sizzling in the pan, Papa dumped a generous spoonful of batter right in the middle, creating a perfectly round pancake. After flipping it over, he surprisingly found himself staring at the image of a smirking face! For the first time, the twinkling, impish face of the great St. Pancake was witnessed. 

That evening, the family was truly astonished to feast on what turned out to be the absolute WORST pancakes ever made by human hands. Luckily, the previous night’s dinner had been spaghetti, and there were plenty of leftovers. 

But that evening, a tradition was born. And ever since, we have celebrated the gift of St. Pancake, by coming together as a family and making pancakes out of whatever wild combination of things we can find. Sometimes we even eat them.