A perfect pancake day

There are many reasons why I love Nigel Slater. He's a big old softie, for one. His veg garden makes me want to say 'I do' and then there are his recipes. Ah, his recipes... I made broccoli soup from Nigel's wonderful book Tender for Christmas dinner once, and it finally convinced my in-laws, who until then thought I made my living 'translating stuff', that cooking's my thing. (They still think I'm a translator I reckon, but they do ask me for input now when Christmas dinner is being prepped.)

In last week's Observer, Nigel presented the world with a better than good pancake recipe. A bold statement if ever there was one. I mean, it's eggs, milk and flour. How much of a difference can there be? My mum used to make pretty good ones: thick, rich and filled to the rim with apple. My friend Chantal's mum already had the whole French thinner than thin crepe thing worked out in the 1980's. And nothing beats Nigella Lawson's superquick fluffy American ones at breakfast time. Did I really need another pancake recipe?

But this was Nigel we're talking about, the man whose recipes I trust blindly, the man who made me a 'good cook' in the eyes of my mother-in-law. This pancake recipe was to be taken seriously (or to be given a chance, at least). So with a slight hint of scepticism I set about making the (fairly liquid, I noticed) batter, letting it rest for the required thirty minutes. Then I made the pancakes, as thin as I could, in a pan glazed with a smudge of melted butter. And boy where they good. So soft, so buttery, so crisp round the edges. I had one with bacon and cheese, and a plain one served with lemon and sugar. Never will I use another recipe for pancakes again. Never will I doubt Nigel Slater again.

A fairly crap shot of a fairly perfect pancake