"Excuses, excuses." She tsks, dumping her load of goods onto the worktop. The refrigerator yields more goodies - butter and cream, a jar of maple syrup, eggs.

(Eggs)

She impatiently ignores the stray thought, already knowing where that rabbit hole leads and not today, thank you.
"You may sit there then, sir, and attempt to not appear too smug." She's barely looking at her measurements, she's made pancakes too many times before to really need to be careful.

Another check of the refrigerator brings a crow of triumph and a box of blueberries. Now, to find a griddle...