Back in the day, Pancake Day pancakes meant lemon and sugar. Nutella was the stuff of holidays, slathered over half-yard-wide crêpes by an insouciant Frenchman running the market stand in the village near our rental. There was jam, too, or cream or chestnut purée, but we always chose Nutella, which had the vague whiff of raffish glamour, of Sacha Distel and Bridget Bardot. Never mind that the chocolate-smeared crêpe, folded in four and wrapped in white paper, had the texture of spongy dishcloths