Now through our this journey I have tried so say as many nice things as possible, there really has been no place that really ground my gears to the point that the teeth wore away. That was until now, and it's not just the one place but a collection of places. I went to a place at Langebaan that specializes in Pancakes, and for R60 I got one pancake, with bland curry, a few pieces of banana and what they called salsa. The only flavour was in the chutney I put over it. Now, normally I would chalk it off to a poor choice of restaurant but I have been constantly disappointed in the pancakes I have ordered from various places on my journey.
It started at Wilderness, at a place called the Pancake Hut. The blackened and warped pans should have put me off the place completely, but I persevered. I had faith. A place that only made one thing had better make it well, right? When I ordered a caramel pancake for a whopping R20 and saw the guy reach for the microwave, I should have cut my losses and ran. But no; like a virgin at a whorehouse, I stood wide-eyed, expecting the best when all signs pointed away from a good time. The 'caramel' that was advertised turned out to be a kind of syrup that I am certain should not be consumed without friends, because it really fails as a solo project. So beneath the beautiful milk-wood canopy I wept silently.
The next insult, though not as bad as the first, came at the Hermanus Whale Festival. There was a stall that provided all the trims from a local shop that made yummy things. They were selling two pancakes for R5; to draw people in I am sure. They were doing it the proper French way, with the plate and the T-shaped stick. They even folded it. Immediately I was reminded of my favourite shop years ago; The Swell Fairy, that made pancakes so good I swear it made people undergo a religious experience. Sadly what I go was doughy disappointment, with so much cinnamon it had put the sugar in camps as a final solution.
So when this place in Langebaan disappointed me, it was like a all my lost lovers came back in a tidal wave; and the rage I felt at the poor little shop was a tad unjustified -- but still. I mean .. how does one mess up a pancake? I could make pancakes that brought a tear to your eye since I was 12 years old. I feel like this journey has taken the hopes and dreams of a young pancake-eating child, put them in a bag and threw it down a well.
I suppose pancakes are to remain in the home, enjoyed in private and kept out of the hands of people who can put a price tag on it.
It started at Wilderness, at a place called the Pancake Hut. The blackened and warped pans should have put me off the place completely, but I persevered. I had faith. A place that only made one thing had better make it well, right? When I ordered a caramel pancake for a whopping R20 and saw the guy reach for the microwave, I should have cut my losses and ran. But no; like a virgin at a whorehouse, I stood wide-eyed, expecting the best when all signs pointed away from a good time. The 'caramel' that was advertised turned out to be a kind of syrup that I am certain should not be consumed without friends, because it really fails as a solo project. So beneath the beautiful milk-wood canopy I wept silently.
The next insult, though not as bad as the first, came at the Hermanus Whale Festival. There was a stall that provided all the trims from a local shop that made yummy things. They were selling two pancakes for R5; to draw people in I am sure. They were doing it the proper French way, with the plate and the T-shaped stick. They even folded it. Immediately I was reminded of my favourite shop years ago; The Swell Fairy, that made pancakes so good I swear it made people undergo a religious experience. Sadly what I go was doughy disappointment, with so much cinnamon it had put the sugar in camps as a final solution.
So when this place in Langebaan disappointed me, it was like a all my lost lovers came back in a tidal wave; and the rage I felt at the poor little shop was a tad unjustified -- but still. I mean .. how does one mess up a pancake? I could make pancakes that brought a tear to your eye since I was 12 years old. I feel like this journey has taken the hopes and dreams of a young pancake-eating child, put them in a bag and threw it down a well.
I suppose pancakes are to remain in the home, enjoyed in private and kept out of the hands of people who can put a price tag on it.
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