I don’t like waking up early. At. All. It’s probably one of my least favorite things to do, closely followed by having to interact with people I despise. Or just don’t generally like. Or don’t feel like seeing. Sometimes I can be a bit antisocial. BUT, the point of this was that even more than interactions I’d rather avoid, I don’t like waking up at absurd hours. Such as 9AM. Much, much too early. However, this morning that is exactly what I did.
Well, rather, I tried. I’ve been informed that when the alarm went off, I grunted, rolled over and continued to sleep. While I would admonish that this sounds nothing like me, I only came to around 9:30, so have to believe that something prevented me from getting out of bed at 9. I think it could have been space goblins.
The reason for my early arising was one of the most violent, action-packed and bloody sports ever: golf. Kidding! Golf’s not a sport. (I have to be careful who I say that around living over here…) No, as I’m sure you guessed from the title, it was rugby. This morning was the Rugby World Cup semifinal between Australia and New Zealand. Scotland’s already out, so I’m now a staunch Kiwi supporter, mostly because I enjoy Flight of the Conchords and the fact that there are more sheep in New Zealand than people. (Aso true of Scotland.) While I’ve never been a huge rugby fan, I’ve discovered it’s the only sport I like watching. It’s not like soccer, where they complain about the lightest injury, or American football that stops and starts and takes hours to finish. Just this morning I saw people on both the Aussie and New Zealand teams get bashed in the face and the blood come splashing out. Did they go off the field? Stop playing? One guy did to stuff some tissue paper up his nose, but there was one guy who just kept wiping it on his wrist-guard. Rugby stops for nothing.
I thought the only thing that could make early morning brutality better was American pancakes! I make the distinction because apparently the Brits have another variety of pancake. I don’t know what they taste like but they’re clearly inferior. They also don’t have maple syrup over here, so we used something called “Golden Syrup.” It looked kind of like thick honey but tasted pretty much like the syrup I’m used to.
No, the first and realest distinction I’ve made between American and British cooking is the lack of useful measuring utensils the Brits seem to have. While my recipe was in cups and tablespoons, the kitchen I was in had no such utensils. I found a conversion system online and figured out that 3/4 of a cup milk is roughly 178 ml, but I had no idea what to do for the dry ingredients. So I guessed. (I also possibly came home and ordered international measuring cups online.)
It went surprisingly well–it helps that I’ve taken a greater interest in baking in the past year so could kind of remember what a cup of flour looks like. I also put chocolate chips in the pancakes and after my first few failed attempts at flipping had Gavin do the rest of them, which led to some pretty yummy pancakes. I’d like to thank Cook.Bake.Eat.Love for putting a great recipe on her blog and say that I couldn’t have done it without her. I doubt they turned out exactly how they were supposed to, but there was nary a pancake left at the end of a rousing 20-6 victory of the All Blacks over Australia.
Next Sunday: the Rugby World Cup Final between France and New Zealand! Will have to think of something else American to make for breakfast and educate these Scots.