Pancake catastrophe

Jake decided he was going to surprise me with homemade pancakes this morning. From scratch. Without a recipe. Because apparently measuring flour is for people who lack confidence.

Pancake catastrophe

This is what I walked into after my shower. He somehow got more flour on himself and the floor than actually in the bowl. The batter looked like concrete and I’m pretty sure he used salt instead of sugar at some point because when I tasted it, my face did things.

We spent the next twenty minutes scraping pancake cement off my hot plate and sweeping flour out of places flour should never be.

At least we’re cleaning up together.

At least he helped clean up, and I have to admit watching him try to figure out where all that flour came from was pretty entertaining.

We ended up walking to Franklin Street for actual breakfast. Sometimes IHOP exists for a reason.