Twelve pancakes, about to be flipped, have just been remarkably well poured in a grid on a griddle. The cook, impeccably suited for the matter at hand in bleached whites finished with a snappy bowtie, has a spatula in hand, grin on his face and eyes on the bottle of beer in the hand of his less kempt pancake copilot. He looks to be on batter duty judging by the fact that he is standing before a generous stainless bowl of it. His look is that of a long sleeved paisley sport shirt and conversational apron stenciled with a caricature of himself at the moment.

Leafy vegetation, a moderately mod, two-slat-back, folding, wooden chair and a casually curled garden hose provide a lush backdrop, somewhere to sit and something to trip over. It's a beautiful day in the backyard for a pancake breakfast. The barbeque is temporary. The bricks have no mortar holding them together. Oh how this inspires me to gather up a pile of used bricks and fashion a mortarless BBQ in my own backyard. When I do get my bricks organized in such a fashion I do hope I'm as well dressed as at least one of these two flapjacks!

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