The past week and a half, I have traded in productivity for a wee bit of leisurely enjoyment. With classes done and no exams for another few weeks, it has been a time of galavanting rather than work. My flatmates all emptied out to go adventuring around Europe, so I’ve had the flat to myself for the past week. I really love living alone– I know some people hate being in solitude, especially at night, but there is something about it that I find quite nice. The best part is definitely being able to drink milk straight from the carton. Hands down. I would venture to assert that are few more satisfying actions than drinking milk from the jug. A bold claim, I know, but I’m standing by it. Sure, there are downsides to solo living, like the water heater in the hall closet which, at night, makes a sound exactly like ragged, measured breathing. Not my favourite sound to walk by at 2 am, but honestly, the joy of jug-milk outweighs potential closet-murder. Totally worth it.
Additionally, I have been having copious amounts of slumber parties on my kitchen floor. At night, we play Risk and drink rum and play cards and listen to battle music and Frightened Rabbit, until we fall asleep in a pile of blankets, bodies, and air mattresses on the cold linoleum. We wake mid afternoon, smudged and hungry, and the stove sputters to life as I make pancakeggs. What, may you ask, are pancakeggs? Only the best invention to ever revolutionize breakfast! Okay, less of an invention and more of an aesthetic rearrangement of things that already exist. But still, they’re fantastic. Promise.
The boys and I now have grand dreams of opening a diner that serves exclusively things-inside-of-pancakes. We’ll have regular competitions where we offer unfilled pancakes and patrons can come bearing potential fillings. The winner will get their recipe added to the menu and named in their honour. The name of the restaurant would undoubtedly have to be something punny (suggestions are more than welcome– every imaginary restaurant needs a good name).
Sometimes little dreams like those make my heart twitch a little, remembering how little time I actually have left. But it’s important not to think about that. It may seem like I’m slightly over-enthusiastic about pancakeggs, but it’s not the food itself that matters to me (though it is freakin’ delicious). It’s what it represents– these perfect nights and mornings, the people I share them with, the way it feels to wake with messy hair and tangled blankets in a pile of friends, tabletops sticky with spilled drinks, playing cards strewn about the room.
Anyway, I want to see the pancakegg craze catch on. Any reader that makes pancakeggs (or anything inspired by pancakeggs) and sends me a photo (firstname.lastname@example.org) will have the picture featured on this blog. Do it. Lets start a breakfast revolution.