At my last job, they had some guy come in with a machine that could make like 40 pancakes at a time. Was there for a few hours, cranking out pancakes, sausages, eggs. He flipped the pancakes through the air at you and you had to catch them on your plate. It was mildly anxiety inducing, but I guess I’d call that a pancake party.
When I worked at a restaurant, I always knew I was off to a good shift when I arrived and the manager was cooking pancakes for everyone. I fucking love pancakes, especially with that cheapass artifically flavored corn syrup. Just the best comfort food ever.
Add comment