Apples, Part 2: In Which I Fail

We go apple picking every year you know.
I write about it every Autumn.
Some years we sit in traffic and moan, some times we zip up to the mountains and have a jolly old time.
Then, we haul scores of apples home and spend weeks cooking them up in every recipe you can imagine.
But, year after year, I fail. I fail at Tarte Tatin, sometimes I botch up the pie, and, without question, every year, I fail at Apple Pancake.
This year was no exception.

I arrived home from work, having scoured the internet for the perfect recipe and promising the boys apple pancake for dinner. I give them a lot of credit. Not one of them accused me of continuing to poison them with yet another TERRIBLE apple pancake. They were hungry. They were enthused!
Oldest was, as is his nature, starving and impatient. He purposely sat quietly, with his guitar, strumming softly whilst trying to ignore the clock and his growling stomach as I made the batter and let it rest and prepared the ingredients and preheated the oven and mixed and stirred and warmed and baked.

They were all very good about it - K arrived a short time later and took precautionary measures by slicing some Illegally Imported Italian Salami and cheese and preparing a platter. The boys kept themselves busy while I cooked.

It looked good enough -




















but looks are deceiving.




















I was unsure of the timing and, as was pointed out to me, should have been suspicious of the egg to apple ratio in the recipe....




















And I won't say it was inedible, but I will say that it was more of an apple omelet, if you will...an apple clafoutis, perhaps - an apple frittata, K suggested.
But it was no apple pancake.

All was not lost.
We had a good laugh - and there was some chicken stir fry leftovers in the fridge for Oldest, who was still very hungry and very patient.