Sourdough Pancakes

Fifty years ago when I arrived as Presbyterian summer missionary pastor in The Pas, Manitoba, I discovered that there was no active congregation and all the furniture from the Church had disappeared.  It took the ingenuity of the local Anglican priest to sort out some of the basics and get both the key and some of the basic furniture returned by a resentful former member who had claimed it for his own use.   

The living quarters were in the back half of the church building.  A cast iron woodstove provided both heat and hot water.  There was no congregation.  A retired Baptist, Old Foyle, volunteered to come on Sundays and play the foot pump organ providing I would let him sing solos, and every other week a half-breed squaw who didn’t seem to speak English came to the service. 

The local Pentecostal Pastor and his wife provided some bedding and some other basic necessities, notably the gift of a jar of sourdough starter.  It made the most marvelous light and fluffy pancakes.  One morning as I was cooking breakfast on the woodstove the Pentecostal Pastor and his dog stopped by for a visit.  Accidentally I tilted much too much batter into the frying pan and the pancake, a full three-quarters of an inch thick, filled the whole pan.  Then I attempted the impossible.  When the bottom had nicely browned I flipped the pancake.  It turned over and over in the air and fell on the floor with a big spat.  It reminded me of Hosea’s insult for the children of Ephraim, “Ephraim is a cake not turned.”  The dog was in heaven and cleaned up the mess.  From the dog’s view point, “All’s well that ends well.”