Why I Make Pancakes

While I am not yet eating eggs with a comb out of a shoe, there is dog shit on the porch, mouse shit on the counter, a pile of week-old dishes soaking in putrid water in the sink behind which festers a crust of black mold, and grain moths hatching from and having their way with god knows what forgotten stash of dry goods. There’s no use denying it, I live in a house full of slobby men, and I am one of them. I flee from the mess I can’t stand.

The sight of the disgusting, somewhat toxic kitchen adds an unhealthy layer to my morning grumbling: I am loathe to cook anything, and for the first hour manage only to put the tea kettle on. On rare exuberant mornings I might wash some of the dishes while the water comes to a boil. Most of the time, though, I just pace around bemoaning the unendurable injustice of having to prepare and eat breakfast. This morning I stooped to a new low by making quesadillas for breakfast. They tasted largely of rubber and heartburn, but there wasn’t anything else around I could imagine being able to stomach.

After sitting in denial of my bodily needs in front of the computer with a cup of tea, reading new emails or perusing Google Reader for new amusements, most mornings I end up making pancakes. It is difficult to explain why I do this. I, and perhaps you, wouldn’t think that mixing together pancake batter from scratch is the solution for someone who wants non-nasty breakfast with minimal effort. Why not, say, cereal? It is the result of a collection of interconnected, deeply entrenched kitchen habits. I never think to buy cereal. I often buy yogurt, thinking that I’ll eat that in the morning, and I do, but it’s never enough to just eat yogurt. What else do we keep in the kitchen that’s palatable for breakfast? Well, there are eggs. Sometimes, there is bread, and when there is I make eggs on toast. But somehow, even though it is basically the same ingredients, fried eggs and buttered toast are more nauseating than pancakes. Also there is oatmeal, in my mind the least vomitable substance despite looking a bit like vomit, but I made the mistake of buying steel-cut oats. They are delicious, but take about half an hour to cook properly. I don’t get the normal, rolled variety because why buy those when I have the kind I will never use? Basically, I cook pancakes to not think about what to make for breakfast. They are the status quo.

And when the kitchen is disgusting, it is still somehow possible to scrape off whatever grime is on the cast iron pan and while it heats get out the pyrex measuring cup, crack an egg in, add milk, oil, flour, baking powder, and salt, mix it with a fork, and wait until the pan is hot. It’s a ritual that can happen amid squalor.

The result is a very starchy, tiring food. Eat a couple of pancakes and you may just want to go back to bed.

Having written this, maybe I should invest in some muesli.

Pankeggs (and American Breakfasts)

The older I get, the more finicky I become about breakfast. Mostly I poke at it, trying my best to take seriously what only seems like an abstract need for food in the morning. The food often seems too rich, like it’s trying to feed me. Awfully presumptuous of it, don’t you think? Breakfasts in American restaurants are the most offensive in this regard. Their menus full of terrifying practicality, like every customer is in a state of emergency and has got to GET SOME FOOD IN THERE, stat. They don’t waste time on trivial things that aren’t dense with protein, fat, and carbohydrates. And they would never dream of skimping; they err on the side of making you explode. Don’t they understand that breakfast is a time of nausea? It’s in the name. Following a fast, one does not gorge oneself on bacon, eggs, butter, potatoes, and coffee. One might be very hungry, but one needs to ease into the fact of eating. One needs to be seduced. The purveyors of American breakfasts seem completely ignorant of the erotics of eating. To consider the mediative process by which food gets from plate to stomach would be, what, too French?

(I know, I just romanticized Frenchness. Sigh.)

Nonetheless, this morning I made pankegg. It’s one of those gimmicky breakfast foods that fuses a fried egg with some starchy substrate. Actually I can only think of two such foods: egg-in-a-hole and pankegg. Yeah, alright, so maybe it’s not a whole genre.

Pancakes
1 egg
~3/4 cup milk
2/3 cup whole wheat pastry flour
2 teaspoons vegetable oil
pinch of salt
1 teaspoon baking powder

Pankeggs
3 more eggs, one for each pancake

In a medium bowl combine egg, milk, and oil. Add flour, baking powder, and salt. Thoroughly whisk everything together. Let stand for five minutes while the pan heats on medium heat.

Oil the pan. Pour pancake onto pan. When there are lots of bubbles, remove it to a plate, uncooked side up. Crack an egg into the center of the pan. Immediately place the pancake on top of this, uncooked side down. Cook for a few minutes, so that the yolk in still runny. Serve egg side up. Repeat for remainder of pancake batter (should make 3).

Match cut to the second to last photo?

There isn't roughly 3/4 cup milk like the recipe says. I just fill the
measuring cup to the 1 cup mark.

Tierra del Pancake-o

It's true, taking this photo allowed the egg to cook for too long without
the pancake. I'm sure it was cold and alone for those ten seconds.

Pregnant pancake!

Little known fact: eggs scream at frequencies we can't hear.

Ugh.

Yogurt Pancakes

2 eggs
1 1/2 cups milk
whole wheat pastry flour
2 tablespoons yogurt
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
pinch of salt
1 teaspoon baking powder

In a medium bowl mix together eggs, yogurt, oil, and salt. Whisk in 2 tablespoons flour. Whisk in milk. Whisk in 3 more tablespoons flour and baking powder. Continue adding more flour until the batter is slightly wetter than the desired consistency. Whisk, whisk, whisk. It will thicken a little more as the whole wheat pastry flour absorbs more moisture. Fry pancakes in a pan on medium heat, flipping each when the top has lots of bubbles. I eat them with butter and maple syrup.