Who’s excited for Pancake Day? I know a lot of people prefer more crepe-like pancakes but I’ve never been very good at making them, they’re too thin and flimsy. I’m much more partial to fluffy American-style pancakes (I blame PJ’s Pancake House and their $6 student brunch deal) and find them both easier to make and more satisfying to eat. So any Francophiles can just stop reading at this point.

I’ve always liked the idea of pancakes made from oats, but without egg as a binder I find they fall apart or just turn mushy a little too easily. I often make savoury chickpea flour fritters for a quick lunch, so played with the idea of adding chickpea flour to the mix to make the pancake more sturdy, and it worked perfectly (and don’t worry, it doesn’t taste savoury or chickpea-ish at all).  View Full Post

I mentioned in a previous post that I’d visited Paris recently. It was actually my third visit, and by far my favourite. Not being eaten alive by bedbugs in a dodgy hostel this time round probably had a lot to do with that, but it was also the company and the timing. Virginia and I discovered that we are very compatible travelling companions and expect similar things out of a trip — food being priority number one. View Full Post

I never used to understand why mornings were so vehemently resented by so many. Mornings have long been my favourite time of day; there is something so fresh and exciting about the hours just after dawn, when the air is sharpest and purest, the light is low but rising and the streets are still relatively empty. Psychologically, you have the satisfaction of knowing you have a whole day ahead of you to achieve your objectives, and you haven’t messed it up yet. Anything is possible at dawn.

But for the last month, it’s been a small miracle if I’ve wriggled out from under my duvet by 10am. No matter how many alarms I set, I beat them all into silent submission and go back to sleep. The few times I have managed to heave myself up earlier I’ve been so sleepy and foggy-minded that honestly, I may as well have stayed in bed, as I haven’t been good for anything useful. And this is the girl who used to think getting up at 8.30 was a lie-in.

For the first week I blamed it on jetlag, a long semester and all the late night parties. Then there was Christmas. Then I was sick for a few days. There was always some excuse. I blame the season; if it’s dark at 7am, and the wind is howling around the house, raindrops thundering against the window panes, of course my body wants to go back to sleep. And when you don’t actually have to get up, why on earth would you choose to?

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