A griddle cake
By any other name
Would taste as sweet
I toast it
Both sides
Now, hot off the press
I spread the
golden
melting
ever so slightly flowing
butter
And watch it seep
Deep
Not over the edge
And not out of the bottom
But into the pores
And into the heart of comfort
That is my crumpet
Things In My Head 
I spent decades perfecting the honey crumpet that can hold the maximum amount of warm honey without dripping. A big part of the secret is precise cooking. Undercooked and the bottom sags too much and the honey collects in the dip and leaks through, but the slightest carbonisation and it pours out.
Starting about 15 years ago Australian crumpet manufacturers began progressively changing their recipes. All now have thinner bottoms with bigger pores. They have only a fraction of their former honey holding capacity. A lifetime of diligence attaining perfection in one minor breakfast act wasted.
So now my pathetic, underhoneyed morning crumpets do little but remind me of the futility of human existence.
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