By the second night, Ollie had decided he wanted pancakes as well and I still had the jug of batter mix in the fridge from my failed attempts the previous evening. So after a successful session of cutting his hair without the loss of limb, he entrusted me to make some more pancakes without setting the kitchen on fire again.
I used a large pan, and decided to make smaller scotch pancakes to avoid any disasters. Despite this, I still managed to drop a lump of butter onto the stove AGAIN, but was able to wipe it away before it caught fire. The pancakes survived, and Ollie was delighted with his stack of belling-style nutella and banana pancakes. I flicked the induction hob off and did the washing up and that was that.
Or so I thought! The next morning Ollie headed into the kitchen and suddenly I heard the same 'CONNIE' my Dad would growl when I was 6 and had stomped on a sieve. I leapt out of bed and dashed to the kitchen. 'You've left the hob on ALL. NIGHT.' he said. I just can't believe it... Apparently this had been the one time he hadn't obsessively checked all the hob switches before bed, and I'd gone and left it on. I can never tease him about his OCD again. In my defence, the hob switch had been resting between 9 and 0, so whilst it was still hot, I don't think it had been on really hot...? I hope. And the good news is I haven't 'burnt the element out' or whatever technical term it is. I think for not I'm just going to sit with my hands in oven gloves and rock in the corner of the sitting room, as far away from the kitchen as possible. I'm starting to feel like Edward Scissorhands with my culinary expertise rapidly going down the drain. All I can do is be thankful that pancake day is a year away and in the meantime I need to work on not setting fire to the kitchen!
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