薄煎餅

The world over cultures have their own take on the flapjack. Yup! We're talking pancakes. Up until about 15 minutes ago I thought the pancake was just a European/Western thing. But it turns out that people across this spinning orb have a unique way of saying flourmilkandeggsmixedtogetherandfriedinapan. Like the Chinese. And Russians - they say блин - not sure on the pronunciation of that but I'm pretty sure I can pronounce the Turks spin on it which is gözleme. They wouldn't know what I was saying but it would be very pronounced. All these pancakes - I kinda think that's cool. Millions of different same things.

It's hard to figure things out sometimes and sometimes most times.

Urg. Can't I just get it "right" the first go? I've done this three times now and it's still not the way it should be. And um, how many years have I been doing this? yet here I am again - looking at my cast iron frying pan saying "Make me a pancake. May it be golden on both sides, cooked through the middle and may they and the eggs and bacon be finished all at the same time. Amen." It's not a prayer - it's a hope. Maybe this time ....

How can a dumb pancake have one over on me like this? Why can't I get it? And why when I do get it I don't remember for the next time what I did the last time? The same lesson over and over - vaguely familiar but the particulars are fuzzy. But it's like it's new to me each try. How can this be? I should know by know. Shouldn't I?

Seriously, I have yelled, teared up and flung things over pancakes. Too runny, too burnt, too tastless. ARG. It's so simple! Everyone can do this but me! Why oh WHY can't I GET IT!!!!

I'm not sure what morning it was when I finally had it with me and my flapjack impatience but was it ever a good thing just to let it go. I snapped. In a good way. I was kind with me. I sat myself down and let me know in no uncertain terms that it was okay to not get it, to be a big fat pancake-making weenie. So now that the pressure's off it's Adventures with Pannekoeken!

I'm a perfectionist. But it's ridiculous. I'm a perfectionist about all the wrong things - like perfomance and results and bottom-line. Meanwhile my soul is shuddering under the harshness of my words, my expectations. Soul, how many times have we been over this? Aren't you listening? Even becoming patient, if I'm not careful, can quickly become a task - something that can be measured by dates and a clock. Soul, make me patient. May I not be too lenient, nor too harsh. May I be patient with myself always, never having a tantrum from this day forth. And oh the frustration when I realise it still hurts to fail and I berate myself for coming up short. Naturally I'm not just referring to the making of griddle cakes here.

I'm learning that it's more than okay to fail and that it's more than okay to hurt about it. And it's even okay to still not "get it" after the bajillionth time. The stories say more about me than doing it perfectly does.

The thing I hate sometimes? Conveying it. Writing it here. Somehow my struggle seems to get reduced to platitudes and proverbs and flat words. It's just never like that.

Beijing jian bing triptych - Photo taken by xiaming.
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Despite the frustration, and because of it, I'll just keep showing up here, sharing my pancake chronicles.
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