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Pancake Day also known as Shrove Tuesday in Britain. Pancake day is the day before Ash Wednesday and the start of Lent. ‘Shrove’ – as in Shrove Tuesday – stems from old English word ‘shrive’, meaning ‘confess all sins’. It is called Pancake Day because it is the day traditionally for eating pancakes as pancake recipes were a way to use up any stocks of milk, butter and eggs which were forbidden during the abstinence of Lent.
Pancake Day, Pancake Recipe 
Pancakes Recipes from Around the World 


The earliest records of pancakes and pancake tossing appeared in the fifteenth century when the pancakes were a little thicker than the modern pancake; they would also often have added spices for a little decadence. It wasn’t until the eighteenth century and the influence of French cooking and their thin crepes that pancakes more as we know them now.

Pancake Customs in the UK and Ireland

‘Shroving’ was a custom in which children sang or recited poetry in exchange for food or money. ‘Lent Crocking’ was one of the many customs of the day when children would pass from house to house asking for pancakes. If they weren’t given any broken crockery would be thrown at the door!

Other customs and superstitions included the belief that the first three pancakes cooked were sacred. Each would be marked with a cross, then sprinkled with salt to ward off evil spirits, then set aside.

In Ireland, Irish girls were given an afternoon off to make their batter and the eldest, unmarried girl would toss the first pancake. Success meant she would be married within the year.

In Scotland, special oatcakes called Bannocks were made using oatmeal, eggs and salt and cooked on a griddle. A charm would be added to the dough and if an unmarried person found it, would be married within the year.

Wales also had their own customs where people would pass from door to door begging for flour, lard or butter. In some parts of Wales children would kick tin cans up and down the streets, believed to be commemorate the putting away the pots and pans for Lent.

Today, Pancake Races are a popular event throughout the UK and Laura Porter, About’s Guide to London has some fun pictures of races in London .


carol singers

A knock at the door and the carollers sing,
A beautiful song made famous by Bing.

One of Dad’s favourites and one of mine too,
It’s touching what the memory of one song can do.

I dream of a white Christmas year after year,
And wish that Dad could still be right here.

To enjoy festive re-runs of Bing’s Christmas movie,
Crooning along with Rosemary Clooney.

Sipping his sherry and eating mince pies,
While falling asleep just resting my eyes.

I place the old angel at the top of our tree
And pray that my Dad can look down on me

I turn on the stereo, White Christmas blares out as on cue,
As I raise my glass skyward and say “Dad, this one’s for you”


Bhogali Bihu -Promote Yourself


Season’s yield,
Granaries filled,
Festival Bhogali.
Uruka evening,
Enjoyment and feasting,
Building the Bhelaghar,
Pranks with the neighbour.
The morning after,
Obeisance to the God of fire,
Burning the tall Meji,
Made of bamboo and paddy.
Sunga pitha, kaath aloo,
Customary delights of Magh Bihu,
With friends and families,
Flavours of Assamese delicacies.

Geetima Baruah Sarma

Short note: Bhogali Bihu is a harvest festival of Assam, a state of north-east India. The festival is celebrated in mid-January, marking the end of the harvest season. Bhogali means feasting and enjoyment. It is also known as Magh Bihu as celebrations are held in the month of Magh, the tenth month of the Assamese calendar. On the eve known as Uruka, people gather for a community feast with friends and families. A variety of dishes that include meat and fish are cooked over wood flame. Using bamboo and paddy, a temporary hut called Bhelaghar and a tall structure known as Meji are built. Merriment continues throughout the night as youths play pranks like stealing vegetables from the neighbour’s garden. Next morning, offerings are made to the God of fire and people enjoy the traditional delicacies like sunga pitha, kaath aloo etc.


man alonexxxxxxxxxxxx

There is a man sitting
In a table
Just him.
Around him are couples
And friends
And eating dinner
Typical restaurant
On any given night.
This man
I watch him as he sits there
Expensive shoes
Fancy named shirt
Always on his phone
Speaking to different people
I can’t quite hear what they are
Talking about
Sounds like business rather
Than friends
He’s showing everyone
How important he is
Always chatting
Can’t even put it down when the girl
Brings him his food.
Yes he is so busy
And so important
He dines alone.
So I switch my gaze
I see a man outside
Glasses like
Eric Clapton from his unplugged album
In fact the whole outfit looks like
Very 1992
I liked his style until
I see
The gold chain worn on the
Outside of the t shirt
That kind of ruined it for me a bit
He decides not to come in anyway
And the business man has finished
And paid his bill.
Maybe I judged him
He might enjoy eating by himself
But I think I would have a book
To read if it was me.
No more interesting people to
Where is the girl with my meal?


A crazy cooking poem for kids



A Crazy Cooking Poem for Kids

A box of melted crayons.
A cup of Elmer’s glue.
A pint of watercolor paint.
Some Silly Putty too.

A half a pound of Play-Doh.
About a pint of paste.
A tablespoon of flubber
to improve the final taste.

I looked through all the cupboards
for things I could include.
If it was marked “Non-Toxic”
I just figured that meant “food.”

To guarantee it’s healthy
I topped it with a beet.
Then smashed it all together
so it should be good to eat.

I’m hoping that you’ll try it
and tell me what you think.
Just close your eyes and open wide
and nevermind the stink.

–Kenn Nesbitt

This Slimming Lark


I am wanting to look good.
It is high time that I should
The mirror in the wardrobe told me so
I am now no longer fit
Just an old decrepit git
Who lost his youthful figure long ago

My hair is going grey
Doesn’t look like it will stay 
My teeth are on the sideboard in a glass
I’ve somehow lost my zip
and put inches on my hip
I spend too much time sitting on my arse

If I’m not consuming grub
I’ll be boozing down the pub
At keeping fit I am an abject failure
And when I’m in the nude
My belly does protrude
So much so that I cant see my genitalia 

I must go on a diet 
I know that I should try it
No more Pork Pies, Sausage Rolls or Steak and Chips
No more will I take on
A sandwich of bacon
For I wish to reclaim those snake like hips

I think I’ll make a pledge 
To eat only fruit and veg
I will cut out beer and wine and stuff like that
If I tell the truth
My cholesterol’s through the roof
Yet I’ve never been unhappy being fat

I was reared on bread and lard 
So I sometimes find it hard
To take on board the things my Doctor said
I tell you I’m not joking
I enjoy food, beer and smoking 
And as for my old Doctor, well he’s dead.

So should I reduce my food? 
I’m not really in the mood
As I sit here watching Masters Chefs on telly
And when I’m no longer here
There’s no need to shed a tear
Just be happy that I went with a full belly.

Bugger the diet! ! ! ! ! ! ! 

roy may
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