The door to a girl’s heart lies in a fluffy pancake. I do not take comfort in flabby, thin pancakes I have sometimes been served. Nor am I much a lover of the generic buttermilk pancake. Though good, I have grown tired of their monotony. Recently, I was served a wheat germ pancake larger than a Frisbee. I was more impressed by the size than the flavor. At this same meal, I was told that at my friend’s upcoming wedding, they would be serving pancakes at the reception. From my favorite pancake spot I used to order ten little dollar pancakes. Sometimes known as silver dollar pancakes, I enjoyed these because my tiny hands could cup a pancake, easily shoved whole onto my delicate palate. My grandmother makes pancakes without following a recipe, effortlessly puffy, requiring all grandchildren to drench them in her homemade jam. If another’s jam is brought to her kitchen she will “forget” to put it out amongst her own.
I have required D to make these pancakes for me often. They are his family’s “secret” recipe—taken from a cornmeal box long ago. They are the pancake of his youth and happily remembered breakfast table. The first time he made these pancakes for me he held the phone to his ear, mixing ingredients, as his mother retold the recipe she refused to write down. A few weeks later, because he had called so often, the recipe was mailed to him.
The perfect fluffiness, the perfect denseness, the perfect sweetness, these pancakes are bold enough to stand on their own. One day, behind D’s back, I added chopped apples, mimicking my grandmother’s perfect pancake. When he turned around to witness the horror I had created he refused to proceed. Just go on, I encouraged. Before long he happily exclaimed the apple to be the perfect complement to the cornmeal and molasses base. Since then, D and I have made these pancakes in countless fruit forms: apple, pear, banana, blueberry, strawberry, peach.
We have also altered the original recipe slightly. Again to D’s horror, I emptied a jar of applesauce into the batter. You’ve ruined it, he moaned. Remember the apples, I pushed. When the pancakes were complete they were fluffier than ever. Since than, whenever applesauce is in the house, we happily add it, along with any fruit we may have.
D and I normally make a whole batch of these pancakes. Their subtle aroma fills the house and two or three days later we pop cold bits into our mouth on the way out the door. We offer them to friends who are overly impressed with their not-so-simple looking nature. Little do they know they are all too simple to make.
Article comments
1 - Nancy
Vinegar! That's a new one, but these sound tremendous. Oh, just what I need: another kind of goodie to get hooked on ....