My oldest daughter asked me to make pancakes for breakfast this morning. Since I had the pleasure of realizing that the clocks turned back last night and I had forgotten to reset them, thus it was actually 6:30 instead of 7:30 am, I decided that I did indeed have the time to do so. Also, my kids LOVE pancakes (I mean, who doesn't?), so as often as I have to say no because of time constraints and whatnot, I actually don't mind making them when I can. Truth be told, I kind of LOVE pancakes as well, but more for the nostalgia factor than anything else.
For as long as I can remember growing up, one day out of the weekend was always designated pancake breakfast day. (It was probably Sunday, but those days also belonged to church services, after which my father would take over the kitchen to whip up hot dogs and pickle relish for lunch. It would seem that Sundays were not the best days for healthy eating during my childhood.) My mother would get up, probably before the rest of us lazy bums, put on her cream colored, polyester, front zip-up robe that almost reached the floor on her petite frame, and start bustling around our galley style kitchen. She would usually have a cup of coffee (black with creamer and no sugar) in one of her Fransican apple patterned cups while she mixed the pancake batter, from scratch, in a well worn, but serviceable plastic mixing bowl. She would fire up her electric griddle, which only saw use on pancake making days, and effortlessly ladle beautifully even 2 to 3 inch diameter dollops of batter onto the sizzling surface. Somewhere along the line, I learned that she waited until the edges of the pancakes were set and the top was bubbly and almost lacy before she would flip them over, revealing a gorgeous golden brown exterior on the one side. After just a few seconds on the second side, she would remove them to a plate, and place pats of butter (probably more likely to have been margarine, but what did I know at the time?) between each pancake. We would always have crisp and crunchy bacon, whose smokey flavor complimented the lightly sweet pancakes themselves as well as the dousing of "maple" syrup that we always poured over the top. (In those days, it was likely to have been called "pancake" syrup, but let's just say that I never had actual maple syrup until I was a grown woman. No offense, Mom.)
None of her three children went away to school and it was only two years ago when the first one of us (my younger brother) moved out of state, but any time we are at my mother's house for breakfast, you can just about guarantee that the electric griddle will make an appearance, as will my mother's pancakes and bacon. The last time I had her pancakes was when my sister, my sister-in-law and I spent the night with my mom the week before my brother got married. It was a sort of bachelorette party for my soon-to-be-sister-in-law - we ate and drank and went shoe shopping. When we got up in the morning, my mother was already in the kitchen, fresh as a daisy (she doesn't drink) and making pancakes. They were delicious. She makes them for my daughters whenever they spend the night with her and she always makes enough that my pancake and bacon loving children can enjoy some the next day (and usually the day after that as well).
So, I also carry on my mother's pancake tradition. I have had her (and my grandmother's before her) recipe memorized since I moved out of her house. When my younger daughter was about to be born, I made and froze two gallon-sized ziploc bags of blueberry pancakes for my older daughter to enjoy while I was in the hospital and after we came home. I have experimented and altered the recipe to make it healthier, to make it seasonal (pumpkin is one of my personal favorites), to add more fruit, to add more fiber, to reduce the sugar, etc., etc., but I can't really beat the flavor of my mother's original recipe. This morning, when I made pancakes, I did actually add some whole wheat flour, which is an ingredient that my mother probably did not have access to in the mid-1980's. For the most part though, this morning's creation was pretty near her original recipe. I poured the batter onto my electric griddle (my Cuisinart Griddler - my absolute favorite kitchen gadget), watched for the edges to set and the bubbles to form, then flipped them over to reveal golden brown perfection. (You know, after the first couple - those are the "seasoning" pancakes that don't look perfect, but taste just as good.) I let my pancakes set on the second side slightly longer than my mother did, and I used the time to smear a little bit of Smart Balance spread (also something my mother did not have) on the top. I stacked them up on a plate, just like her and served them to my daughters with a drizzle of honey (no bacon, much to their chagrin). They were delicious and probably the closest I have come to recreating one of my mother's recipes in a very long time. They got me thinking - about my pancake memories, my family and how we make new memories for our kids every single day. Maybe my kids will remember me bustling around the kitchen, tea mug in hand, whipping up a batch of pancakes. No one will remember the flavors - they were all experimental anyway. In any case, breakfast was great this morning and ended up being a great trip down memory lane - pancake style!
