Sex and Pancakes
Craving Connection in a World of Instant Gratification
By: Deborah Hill LCSW (Ret.)
I like to unwind with reruns of The Colbert Report and The Daily Show. No matter what kind of day I’ve had, that satirical hour somehow makes everything feel a little better.
One episode featured a spoof on black-market Canadian maple syrup, comparing it to a drug cartel. The mock reporter—adamantly syrup-free—feared one taste would spiral him into addiction, crime, and sticky ruin. Naturally, he caved. The next thing you know: endless pancakes, missed work, shady street deals, and a full-blown syrup bender.
I laughed out loud—then turned to my dog and said, “Damn, I wouldn’t mind some pancakes with syrup. Do we have any King Syrup?”
King Syrup is the good stuff—thick, rich, slow to pour. My dad used to beg me to smuggle bottles down to Florida. You can’t get it there. He gets it. I get it. We’re syrup people.
That night, I resisted. I had toast with peanut butter and milk in a blue Solo cup. Later, I played a few rounds of Bubble Mania, freeing kittens from bubbles (usually gratifying). But not that night. My mind was stuck on syrup.
At 6:00 a.m., I woke up with one clear thought: Pancakes.
I made a stack—instant mix, just add water. Three golden-brown discs with butter, warm and waiting. I pushed my work aside and gave them my full attention.
With reverence, I poured the King Syrup (not Canadian, but Fredonia, NY—close enough?) and let it soak in. Not too long—you don’t want soggy regret. Then I ate, slowly, trying to channel the reporter’s syrup high.
It didn’t work.
What I got was 1,000 empty calories and the gnawing feeling that this wasn’t it. Not really.
And then it hit me:
What I wanted wasn’t pancakes or syrup.
I wanted joy.
I wanted connection.
To feel loved, valued, seen.
Maybe even touched. Perhaps even… sex. Or intimacy. Or something that told me I mattered.
Sometimes, we crave comfort and reach for what’s easy—food, TV, a distraction—because it almost satisfies. It promises to fill the hole but leaves us emptier than before. We make choices that don’t serve us, not because we’re broken, but because we’re human and hungry for something deeper.
The mind is tricky. Needs unfulfilled will find a workaround, even a ridiculous one. That Colbert sketch planted a seed. Logically, I knew pancakes weren’t the answer. But that night, syrup made sense.
Is it any wonder our behavior can get a little wacky? That we gravitate toward something—or someone—that offers relief, even when we know better?
What if we could pause in those moments and ask, “Is this really what I need?”
What if we could yell STOP before that instant gratification derails something deeper?
If you find yourself elbow-deep in pancakes and still feeling empty, it might be time to ask what you’re really craving.
And maybe—just maybe—you’ll find a healthier, richer, more lasting way to feed that hunger.
Bon appétit.
Deborah Sickle Hill 