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I made American pancakes this morning. Would you like some? I am about to serve the first batch to my guests."
"I can make some for us," I said, taking in the batter, the greased griddle, and the bowl of apricots. "You can go and fuss over the guests."
"Ah, bien," she answered, loading a platter full of beautiful apricot-studded pancakes to take away. "Bon, I pour the batter and place the slices over the top just so. They're very moist because of the crème fraîche, and then I serve them with a crème anglaise."
"It looks great," I said, taking the ladle in hand and stirring the batter, just to get a feel for the consistency. "Don't worry about us."
Sandrine grinned her thanks, and I turned my attention to breakfast.
"I can do that, if you want to sit," Neil offered.
I waved him away. "I can make pancakes in my sleep."
"I liked that she called them 'American pancakes'."
"Well, they are. French pancakes are crepes, and German pancakes are a whole other deal altogether." I ladled four puddles of batter onto the griddle, enjoying the sizzling sound they made as batter met butter. "English pancakes are closer to crepes, just thicker."
"Reminds me of when I was in Toronto for a conference. I tried to order a Canadian bacon and pineapple pizza but got tongue-tied."
I laughed and began to arrange the apricots. "What did you do?"
"I said 'Hawaiian' instead. The guy seemed to know what I was talking about."
"Quick thinking."
"Thank you."
"In truth, between the crème fraîche and the crème anglaise topping, I think these pancakes are a bit more trans-Atlantic than American."
"I'll take your word for it.
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