Sometimes, just occasionally, I have a craving for pancakes. Though not a particularly complicated thing to make, I so rarely make them. Why is that?
When I was a kid, my mom was the pancake maker. My dad made waffles. Mom never made waffles that I recall, and Dad never made pancakes. The pancakes of my childhood had weight. Literally. I remember them thunking on to my plate. They were hearty and healthy, and filled my belly solidly and I could just feel them sticking to my ribs, as the saying goes. Mom probably made them with whole wheat flour, and even a slather of butter and real maple syrup really never turned them into a treat - they were always healthy.
Those are not the pancakes I crave (sorry, Mom). I crave the sourdough pancakes they used to serve at an earlier incarnation of the Davenport Cash Store, but no more. I crave the eggy, rich pancakes I get at the French bakery near my house on lazy Sunday mornings (they make their own yogurt and an order of pancakes with a bowl of yogurt laced with maple syrup will hold me happily sated until late afternoon). I crave the puffy baked affair that I used to sneak out of the office to go eat with my friend Erik that I contest is not really a pancake at all, more like a huge sweet popover that you have to eat immediately out of the oven before it falls. We tried cooking one at my house once and got batter all over the inside of the oven. After that we went back to the restaurant down the street from our office when we had to have that particular treat. And although I had forgotten them until I was searching for these recipes to share, I once had ricotta-based pancakes at a bed and breakfast that were out of this world.
I have a bottle of real maple syrup in my fridge and I'm going to start making pancakes this fall. I'm going to be the pancake-making mom in this house. Want to join me? Here are some that I want to try:
Swedish Apple Pancakes (popover things)