Hot Cakes

You often hear the expression “They sold like hot cakes.” The clear implication of this, of course, is that hot cakes are somehow superior to cold cakes and therefore more in demand by all right-thinking people. But is this indeed true?

Yesterday, at 3.00 pm, the Vicarage was having one of its regular “Come and have tea and cakes with the Vicar and find God for only £2.50” afternoons, so I decided to go along and put it to the test. Accordingly, I baked some cakes of my own and took them there in a foil container, fresh from the oven, to see how they’d compare to the brumal competition.

You know what? Despite the fact that, aesthetically, nutritionally, and even tastewise, my hot cakes were clearly the best of the bunch, the cold cakes put out by Cate, the Vicar, outsold my hot ones by at least 10 to one. This is an iniquitous situation. And when I demanded to know of those present why they chose her cakes over mine, the majority replied that it was precisely because mine were hot - too hot, many claimed – that they went for the cold ones.

Well fuck you, parishioners of Bumbles Green. And fuck you, too, Cate. Maybe I won’t shag you, after all.

Afterwards, I tried to analyze what had gone wrong. Eventually, a search of the Internet turned up Robert Hendrickson’s "Encyclopaedia of Word and Phrase Origins", published in 1997. “Hot cakes cooked in bear grease were popular from earliest times in America,” he says. “First made of cornmeal, the griddle cakes or pancakes were of course best when served piping hot and were often sold at church benefits, fairs, and other functions. So popular were they that by the beginning of the 19th century 'to sell like hot cakes' was a familiar expression for anything that sold very quickly effortlessly, and in quantity."

Clearly, that’s where I erred. Next time, therefore, I’ll find a greasy bear (one marinaded in olive oil or coated in lard, presumably), fry him, toss the cakes into the mix, and then take the ensemble over to the vicarage. I shouldn’t imagine the bear is going to enjoy this much, and, as a consequence, might even maul people or eat them as they try to reach for the cakes. But at least this should prove a true test of faith for the parishioners: If God is with them, they’ll survive the experience. It’s a better test than, say, Communion, anyway, where there’s no risk whatsoever of being eaten by a bear (except, perhaps, in Alaskan churches where they can sneak up behind you while you’ve got your eyes closed in prayer).