Shrove Tuesday=Lots and Lots of Pancakes
What and When is Shrove Tuesday? Simply put, it is the day before Ash Wednesday (making it today) and as for what–no one really knows for sure. Well, at least that’s the story I’m going with.
Here’s the Farmer’s Wife’s take on it (from the Farmer and his Wife, to be released 3/16/21)
Shrove Tuesday
Spring brings with it more than Robins and tulips, planting and plans. At the Farm. they celebrate Easter, and by that, I mean really celebrate it. It begins some forty days before when they make pancakes. Yes, pancakes.
The Farmer’s Wife flips another onto a plate. “I don’t think I can do it,” whimpers one.
“Toughen up,” she laughs and slaps on another. A big one.
“What does this have to do with Easter?” another asks and their Mother shrugs. She has no idea. Well, that’s not entirely true. She knows it has something to do with cleaning out your cabinets before you start to fast. And since some people fast over Lent, sometime, somewhere, people started making a mess of pancakes the night before.
She just knows she likes to eat pancakes.
And here’s how she does it: You have to start the night before, mixing equal amounts of wheat flour (freshly ground is best) and yogurt into a bowl. That sets out until it’s nice and bubbly—overnight at least. To that you add an egg or two, a teaspoon of soda and half as much salt and a tablespoon or so of melted butter. And with that, you will have the lightest, fluffiest pancakes around.
The Farmer’s Wife has made a triple batch, just for the occasion.
They have chocolate chip pancakes and blueberry pancakes, cinnamon and spice pancakes with sizzling apples, pumpkin pancakes and yes, even plain ones. But no matter the kind, all get topped with warm, golden maple syrup—straight from the tree. They’ll have no darkened sugar-water from corn served here, let me tell you, not when there’s a maple tree left standing within a hundred miles.
Groans sound from around the table. Buttons are let loose.
“How about some more?” she asks.
Chairs scrape back. There’s a mutiny, and this one’s begun by the Farmer himself.
“Please. No more.”
She laughs and puts her spatula down. Let the fast begin.
