Sure, we can and do eat pancakes all year round but somehow when there is a designated day, it’s exciting. It’s like you’re being given permission to eat your fill of pancakes.
I grew up eating Portuguese-style pancakes and that’s the type I make on Shrove Tuesday – the day before Ash Wednesday. For me it is a combination of nostalgia and tradition.
We’d race home from school in the afternoon, the sun still high in the sky. The kitchen window curtain pulled, offering shade, creating the perfect warm atmosphere for the yeasted batter to rise before being dropped as balls to be fried. The saucepan of homemade syrup, still warm, sat on a back burner, a couple of cinnamon sticks languishing in sweet goodness after releasing their flavour.
