As I’m writing this its still Shrove Tuesday, albeit just barely.  As you’re reading this it probably won’t be Shrove Tuesday any more, unless I suddenly develop the ability to type at a phenomenal speed or you happen to live in a different time zone.

I never quite understood the point of Shrove Tuesday, but that’s never stopped me from celebrating it in the time-honoured fashion.  Pancakes were consumed, and they were tasty.  For that, I have Clare to thank.

As a card-carrying lapsed Catholic I’m well aware that Pancake Day traditionally falls on the day before Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the Feast of Lent.  That’s something else I’ve never quite understood.  I get the basic point of indulging yourself with tasty grub just prior to a sustained period of fasting, but why pancakes?  I don’t remember any mention of that in the Bible.

Maybe it was hidden away in some apocryphal scripture:

And on the day before Jesus was led by the Holy Spirit into the wilderness to fast for forty days, He did gather his disciples and did sayeth unto them, Who amongst you has the Jif Lemon?  And his disciples answered him, saying none amongst them had the Jif Lemon.  And Jesus did sayeth onto them, Who amongst you has the golden syrup?  And his disciples answered him, saying none amongst them had the golden syrup.  And Jesus was most displeased and did sayeth unto them, Let he who is without Jif Lemon or golden syrup caster the first sugar.

The Book of Moses Horwitz 4: 8-12

Another possibility is that Pancake Day has its roots in some lost Pagan ritual that has since been appropriated by Christianity.  Writing in the first century AD, the historian Tacitus’ account of the Roman invasion of Britain – The Agricola – mentioned the discovery of giant, abandoned, crêpe-like constructions that were built by indigenous Druids to placate the gods.  This would appear to have its roots in a similar ritual practiced in Ancient Greece, except their big, batter-based offerings were to the local god of music, fertility and theatrical criticism.

His name, of course, was Pan.