
Chef Thomas
A Proper Bacon Sandwich
Back bacon in a hot pan, good white bread, soft salted butter. Ten minutes between waking up and the first bite of something that makes the morning make sense.
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Thin, lacy, rolled with caster sugar and a sharp squeeze of lemon. A February kitchen ritual that asks almost nothing of you and gives back more than it should.
February. The kitchen is cold at the edges and the windows are dark by five. Shrove Tuesday arrives quietly, the way it always does, somewhere between the last of winter and the first suggestion that it might end. And the whole house smells of butter in a hot pan.
These are not American pancakes. I should say that plainly, because the word means different things on different sides of the Atlantic. These are thin, lacy, slightly crisp at the edges, soft in the middle, rolled up with caster sugar and lemon juice and eaten standing at the counter or passed across the table one at a time, still warm from the pan. They take ten minutes to make and about thirty seconds to eat, which is roughly the right ratio for something this good.
I've made them every Shrove Tuesday for as long as I can remember, and most of the Wednesdays and Thursdays that follow, because once the batter is in your head there's no good reason to stop. The recipe is in the notebook, though I don't need to look at it any more. Flour, eggs, milk, butter. A pinch of salt. A lemon. That's the whole of it.
There are few better feelings than putting a warm plate in front of someone, and a pancake handed over fresh from the pan, sugar already melting into it, is one of the most direct forms of that pleasure I know. Your kitchen, your rules. But lemon and sugar is the classic for a reason, and I'd start there before wandering off into Nutella or golden syrup.
Quantity
125g
Quantity
2
Quantity
300ml
Quantity
small knob
melted, plus extra for the pan
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
for serving
Quantity
2
halved, for serving
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| plain flour | 125g |
| large eggs | 2 |
| whole milk | 300ml |
| unsalted buttermelted, plus extra for the pan | small knob |
| fine sea salt | pinch |
| caster sugar | for serving |
| lemonshalved, for serving | 2 |
Tip the flour and salt into a mixing bowl and make a well in the centre. Crack in the eggs and pour in a splash of the milk. Whisk from the middle outwards, pulling the flour in gradually from the edges. It will look lumpy and unpromising for a moment. Keep going. Add the rest of the milk slowly, whisking until you have a batter about the consistency of single cream: thin enough to run freely across the pan, thick enough to coat the back of a spoon. Stir in the melted butter. Let it sit for twenty minutes if you can, half an hour if you have the patience. The resting makes the pancakes tender rather than chewy.
Set a frying pan, not non-stick if you can help it, over a medium-high heat. A heavy, flat pan about 20cm across is ideal. Add a small piece of butter and swirl it around. When it foams and the foam subsides, the pan is ready. Too cool and the batter won't set quickly enough. Too hot and the first pancake burns before you can tilt the pan. The butter is your thermometer: when it sizzles on contact but doesn't brown instantly, you're there.
Pour a small ladleful of batter into the centre of the pan, then immediately tilt and swirl so it spreads into a thin, even circle. It should cover the base in a single layer, no thicker than a coin. Cook for about a minute, until the underside is golden and lacy and the edges have started to curl away from the pan. Flip it. A palette knife helps, or toss it if you're feeling brave and the children are watching. Give the second side thirty seconds or so, just enough to freckle it with golden spots. Slide it onto a warm plate.
Work through the batter, adding a whisper of butter to the pan between each pancake. Stack them on a warm plate as you go, or hand them out one at a time, which is the better way. Sprinkle each pancake with caster sugar, a generous amount, then squeeze over half a lemon and roll it up. Eat immediately. The sugar melts into the hot pancake, the lemon cuts through the sweetness, and for about forty-five seconds nothing else in the world matters very much.
1 serving (about 140g)
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