SUNDAY BREAKFAST

I am inordinately fond of pancakes and always have been. From thin crepes with lemon juice, to a plate of silver dollars with sausage on the side, to a big fat buttermilk stack foundering in a sea of maple syrup, I’ll eat fried batter until I can eat no more. I have to admit, however, the idea of pancakes from an aerosol can creates mixed and conflicted feelings deep in my culinary aberrations. I have to admit, you see, I also have a perverse attraction to the Jetson school space food, and pancakes from a can sure as hell qualify as that. When our pal Zoe first alerted me to this pressurized wonder, my first thought was to speculate if you could squirt the stuff onto some recycled black plastic platter and place it straight in the microwave. I have yet to conduct such a nuke-potential experiment but I will report back if I do. My second, and less happy thought was whether the Batter Blaster is really just one more step to humanities ultimate corporate fate/doom when, monstrously obese, we are simple plugged into intravenous hoses of high fructose corn syrup in some miserable approximation of The Matrix.

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The secret word is Griddle