My grandmother was a saint - it has recently become clear. As a kid, I had a sleepover at her house almost every weekend. She would let me sit in her big orange velveteen recliner. And we'd stay up past my bedtime watching Golden Girls and Empty Nest. In the morning I would sit at the big orange (Again. She redecorated in the seventies. Incidentally, orange is my favorite color. I never thought about this likely source.) naugahyde breakfast booth nestled into her linoleum covered kitchen and eat pancakes. She would stand at the hot griddle and flip me tiny crepe-like Swedish pancake after pancake.
It was our thing. We would count. An average weekend morning might involve 32 pancakes (For me. She ate too, but I think it's not as much fun to count how many pancakes a grown woman can eat). While this might sound excessive, if not the sign of a serious problem - especially for the belly of an 8-year-old - I need to tell you that these pancakes were lacy-delicate, small in circumference, and just uncontrollably delicious. The small diameter was crucial. Before hitting on this perfect size, she had experimented with different shapes - bunnies and mickey mouse heads and various athletic equipment. But once the baseballs made their way to my plate, all cuteness had to stop. It turns out that the swedish baseball (as it became known in our family) or the two to three inch diameter super thin pancake is the golden mean of pancakes. The ratio of crisp edge to custardy interior makes this version simply the perfect pancake.
And the pancake that I have been trying to replicate off and on for the past 16 years. And the pancake that I just happened to stumble upon with some leftover Belgian waffle batter from tofu mom's excellent recipe. When I thinned it out with more milk and melted butter and poured tiny pools out onto a hot griddle, there it was. The taste of my favorite mornings.
And so after a few more tweaks and trials, I excitedly settled my own children down at the counter in our kitchen to wait for hot swedish baseballs.
Desmond began, "Why did I not get my monkey plate?"
And continued, "The syrup is supposed to go in the ear." (The monkey's ears also serve as sauce compartments. So that explanation is not as bad as it sounds.)
Undaunted I replied, "I know, Buddy. I'll get you a syrup cup."
"A big one? (Pause for recognition of an unsatisfactory syrup cup.) No not that one!"
Ready to flip.
And then after the syrup dipping was sorted, and I managed to turn a few pancakes over before they burned, and then just as I was about to flip hot pancakes onto their waiting plates, the desperate impatience for pancakes hit -
"Give (sigh). Me (sigh)..." I didn't let him finish this emphatic demand for pancakes before I turned off the stove and shared my feelings about use of manners... while we scarfed down the first few hot pancakes.
Also,
"Ennnnhhhh!" echoed Felix meaning the same as the above.
I turned the stove back on and poured out some more batter.
"I have a joke for you. (Thinks about it some more.) It's not very funny. But I'll tell it to you anyway."
(Jokes are delivered in sing-song.) "I have pancakes in my nose!"
(He didn't. It was just a joke.)
Flipping pancakes and glancing at the baby, I instruct:
"Felix! Syrup is for dipping! Do not drink the syrup!"
More flipping, more impatient demands for more pancakes, more reminders of how to ask nicely, and how really it's not necessary to ask at all because the pancakes will just come. More pancakes, and then:
"Ahhh! Felix is putting syrup on his head! Is that okay? Or put it down on the pancakes?"
(Felix has a penchant for turning things into hats. Even small metal containers of maple syrup.)
Baby is wiped down. More pancakes are cooked and consumed. Then:
"I want to go play outside!"
"Okay!" (I think I maybe hid the exact level of my extreme enthusiasm for this plan.)
More flipping, before I holler to Desmond out back:
"What's your brother doing?"
"He's cleaning!"
"What's he cleaning?"
"The dirt."
"The dirt?"
"He's cleaning the dirt off the dirt."
More flipping. And then eventually more washing the baby.
And then Desmond runs in from the backyard,
"Did you save this little piece of pancake for me?"
"Absolutely." (Not looking up from my flipping, I have no idea what he's talking about.)
"And this little bit of syrup?"
"Absolutely."
He runs out the backdoor.
Pauses on last step to add,
"Thank you!"
"You're welcome, Buddy."
And then I turn off the stove, pour myself a second cup of coffee, sit down with the last round of pancakes, and appreciate my grandmother.
Here's my recipe for her pancakes. It is way more than inspired by tofu mom's waffles.
Swedish Pancakes
makes a kajillion pancakes, or serves two to four
- 2 cups flour (I generally use half white whole wheat flour and half all-purpose.)
- 4 teaspoon baking powder
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- 4 1/2 cups milk, divided (I generally use half soy milk and half almond milk, but any rich non-dairy milk will do.)
- 2 tablespoons flax meal
- 6 tablespoons melted butter
- 1 teaspoon vanilla
- cooking spray, more butter, or canola oil for greasing the griddle
In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt.
In a blender, whir 1/2 cup of the milk with the flax meal. Let sit while you measure the remaining ingredients, melt your butter, and heat your griddle over medium low. Grease it too.
Whir the flax meal and milk one more time and then add the rest of the milk, the melted butter and the vanilla. Blend it again until it's good and frothy.
Pour about a cup of the wet stuff into the dry and whisk together. Stir in the rest.
Spoon a tablespoon of batter out onto the hot, greased griddle. When it looks dryish and maybe some brown edges are beginning to peek through, gently scooch a spatula underneath and flip over. Cook until browned on the other side.
Serve immediately with maple syrup.
