The true comfort of memories

I could eat Hungarian Palacsinta on a daily basis. I’m sure it isn’t fundamentally nutritious but my word, once you’ve gone to the world of European savoury stuffed thin pancake, you never look back.

I remember my late grandmother cooking them in her dark mission brown wooden boiling hot kitchen by the seaside when we visited her, the house wafting of various other odours like sauerkraut, cigarettes and whiskey.

But these pancakes were the business.

Then I remember my late mum taking over duties in the later years of our visits, creating the stewed meat ones for main course, followed by a jam filled one for dessert.

Then I had a 20 year gap between her last one and my first one. And upon rediscovering them, it was like welcoming my mouth to the best memory EVER.

Luckily my English husband adores them (and he grew up in the retrospectively and slightly stereotypical Irish meat and two veggie home). His pallet is much more eagle-eyed then it ever was thanks to moi!

So my pancakes are my love, the introduction of soda water has defined them in my books, as has the cheapest but best frying pan a girl could ask for, which holds the exact size of a decent pancake and which I think will become a member of the family when we go on holidays!

Next we try Lángos!





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