Can't make pancakes. Can't be anybody's housewife
It wasn't my first attempt to make pancakes last 6th of April. I remember making pancakes by myself two years ago and they turned out to be slightly-better-than-average (proudest moment of my life). I just followed the detailed instructions on the box and it was a piece of pancake. So, two nights ago, I was craving for butter and sugar and I was thinking of what food usually accompanies both. Answer: pancakes. So I went down the kitchen at four in the morning, hoping I could make myself a tasty bunch while watching Eastwick. I read the instructions on the box. It says I have to put one pack of flour into the bowl and add 3/4 of water. Pretty easy, right? While pouring the water with its desirable quantity, I keep thinking to myself : am I not supposed to put two eggs first? But the box has all the instructions I needed and eggs weren't mentioned. So I "battered" (more like, 'got myself wet because there is nothing solid enough inside the bowl to "batter") while I waited for the pan to heat up. And then I poured the "battered" flour drowning in water into the pan---and it just won't solidify. And then I thought to myself again: Ah, there should be eggs after all. In the fridge, there was only one egg left. I stared at it. Then at the pan filled with liquid flour. I tried again because I want pancakes so bad that morning.
What I did next was beyond rational comprehension. Instead of using new flour, I simply removed the liquid flour from the pan and poured it back on the bowl. Then the egg. I "battered" and there was actually something to batter. I was laughing now, understanding that any normal person who had already made pancakes before would know that eggs are needed and so the box didn't need to specify it. Obviously, the pancake box wasn't manufactured to a consumer like me as idiot-friendly. After washing the pan clean, I saw that my liquid flour has solidified in a way---and now I was prepared to pour a small quantity back in the pan. I waited for the "bubbles" so I can be sure it's time to flip it to the other side. But the damn thing sticks and I ended up destroying what's supposed to be circular in shape. It was like...all grinded and stuff. Also, there were these tiny "chunks" since it was already cooked before and that seemed to add to the problem. The first two pancakes were undercooked and grilled, still edible though if you don't take the aesthetics into account. I got impatient so I poured everything now..and it got big like an omelet. To cut the story short, I simply didn't get to eat pancakes. All I ended up doing was scraping the mess from the pan until my fingers are numb. I got back to bed and never looked back.
I asked the maid the next day to make me pancakes and she did a hell of a job, considering she also had no idea how to make them. I've just given her the instructions to put the eggs first with the flour before the water. And the genius nailed it. But my appetite for them was no longer. I only got to finish one pancake--not even with butter and sugar but with syrup instead.
So there. I can't make pancakes by myself for myself. Which means I'm gonna have to buy ready-made food outside than learn to cook. Or find someone who knows how to cook so I can be fed without making a fool out of myself again. It's surprising how I like to assert my independence in most things; and yet, when it comes to homely stuff, I simply want someone to do them for me. If I will move in with someone in the future, she can go ahead and buy the furniture, the drapes and anything that requires going outside to shop. I'll always have an opinion when it comes to the the contents of the fridge, the color of the walls and the plants/flowers to be brought inside; but that's about it. I'm happy to fulfill my purpose as a slob.
What I did next was beyond rational comprehension. Instead of using new flour, I simply removed the liquid flour from the pan and poured it back on the bowl. Then the egg. I "battered" and there was actually something to batter. I was laughing now, understanding that any normal person who had already made pancakes before would know that eggs are needed and so the box didn't need to specify it. Obviously, the pancake box wasn't manufactured to a consumer like me as idiot-friendly. After washing the pan clean, I saw that my liquid flour has solidified in a way---and now I was prepared to pour a small quantity back in the pan. I waited for the "bubbles" so I can be sure it's time to flip it to the other side. But the damn thing sticks and I ended up destroying what's supposed to be circular in shape. It was like...all grinded and stuff. Also, there were these tiny "chunks" since it was already cooked before and that seemed to add to the problem. The first two pancakes were undercooked and grilled, still edible though if you don't take the aesthetics into account. I got impatient so I poured everything now..and it got big like an omelet. To cut the story short, I simply didn't get to eat pancakes. All I ended up doing was scraping the mess from the pan until my fingers are numb. I got back to bed and never looked back.
I asked the maid the next day to make me pancakes and she did a hell of a job, considering she also had no idea how to make them. I've just given her the instructions to put the eggs first with the flour before the water. And the genius nailed it. But my appetite for them was no longer. I only got to finish one pancake--not even with butter and sugar but with syrup instead.
So there. I can't make pancakes by myself for myself. Which means I'm gonna have to buy ready-made food outside than learn to cook. Or find someone who knows how to cook so I can be fed without making a fool out of myself again. It's surprising how I like to assert my independence in most things; and yet, when it comes to homely stuff, I simply want someone to do them for me. If I will move in with someone in the future, she can go ahead and buy the furniture, the drapes and anything that requires going outside to shop. I'll always have an opinion when it comes to the the contents of the fridge, the color of the walls and the plants/flowers to be brought inside; but that's about it. I'm happy to fulfill my purpose as a slob.