Some people think...

these pancakes are crêpe. I think they're OK myself:)

While L and G shopped, I took Emma for a walk around town until we dropped.

It wasn't long before she was hungry, and probably her favourite food, crêpe, was close to hand. With the full menu at her disposal, with fillings which included honey, maple syrup and chocolate chips, she chose the lemon and sugar.

Cooked in just a couple of minutes in front of her, by the time it was passed over the perspex to me and then to her hand, she was ready to attack her, now folded triangular feast in it's flat cardboard cone. For a six-year-old who sometimes appears to have a stomach the size of a pea, she certainly disposed of this crêpe in short order.

I didn't have one myself, content to watch the crêpe chef (crêperiere?) spread the batter evenly around the hot disc with a snazzy little spreader, which I was sure must have a special name. I found it's called a crêpe spreader or rake. How un-inventive. Never mind, it may have a crêpe name, but it does the job.