Making Jacks
Making Jacks Flippity flap, flippity flap goes the flapjack, flopping over on its fluffy yet fortunate side. Flip flop! Oh, no–watch the top so that it doesn't burn. The flapjack must be flapped at a fortuitous moment, that exact bridge between golden brown and creamy stickiness. Flop, flop it goes down on the plate, perfect in its crispy, crisp cooked exterior but spongy interior. Smooth batter with no bubbles creates a soft middle which knows how to bend. Slice the butter again and listen to its slight sizzle on the skillet. It's time for another flapjack: flippity flop, flippity flap. And the syrup goes glub, glub on the thirsty pancake which soaks it up with a gulp, gulp. After all, it's mostly made of flour becoming flaky as it folds into a cake. And I gobble down another Jack, smooth in the middle but a bit hard on the back. And maybe we're all a bit like Jack, spreading butter to ease the knife of life when it takes form. We sweeten our existence with the sugar...