Pancakes are the shiznit. I assume that we’re all in agreement about this.
Fat American style pancakes can be eaten at any time of year. Top them with bacon or fruit, and something syrupy, and perhaps a blob of creme fraiche if you have half a tub lingering without intent on a middle shelf of the fridge.
Crepes should be eaten when in France and at no other time. Savoury crepes are allowable; melted cheese is always a good thing. Gallettes, if you will. (I will). Sweet crepes are marvellous, and can act as a very effective delivery mechanism for caramel au fleur de sel. (So, of course, can a spoon).
Nigella has a recipe in her latest book for oaty, cinnamony, uncommonly filling pancakes, with a tasty raspberry topping. I recommend it for a satisfying Saturday morning breakfast.
But above all these, is the classic Shrove Tuesday, thinner-than-American-thicker-than-crepe pancake. The recipe you want is Delia’s, as it so often is in life. The secret is butter. (Of course it is).
Try all the fancy toppings you want; I’ll be in the corner with a tablespoon, some caster sugar, and a squeezy Jif lemon.
“Pancakes” is one of the only Polish words I know, because when I worked in a Starbucks in Kensington, my colleague Iwona veered wildly between pronouncing the Ham & Mushroom Crepe as a “Creepy Ham” and a “Ham Crap”. Neither were ideal, when shouted aggressively from the counter, so we all learned to say Nalesniki instead.
To close: inevitable and obligatory Maid Marian and her Merry Men.