In praise of the yummy, light Swedish pancake
I ’ m a n o u t l i e r when i t c o m e s t o p a n c a k e s . A n extreme one.
Where others see fluffy, I see a platter of cakey dough. Never mind the claim of “tender.” Show me a st ack of plate-size behemoths, and I have to avert my eyes.
As I said, I’m an outlier (we all have our quirks), though even I have an exception. If sausage links are involved, I’ve been known to indulge, because who doesn’t love pigs in a blanket, whatever that blanket may be? But I digress. I do favor one version of the eg g-milk-flour combo above all others: the Swedish pancake. I know, I know. Almost the same name, but definitely not the same flavor or texture, despite the similar ingredients.
Swedish pancakes are to traditional pancakes as regular burgers are to veggie burgers. That is, they vaguely look alike (they are both round), but few diners would mistake one for the other.
T h e S w e d i s h v e r s i o n appears as thin and deli - cate as a crepe, and could be mistaken for one. The traditional pancake is, well, the usual hot cake we see on the plate. And you know how I feel about that.
I grew up in a household that served both. When my mother reached for the box of Bisquick on a Saturday morning, we knew what we were getting (that would be regular pancakes in all their sturdiness). All of us at the table, that is, except me. I made toast.
But on rare occasions when my father was out of town and my mother wanted to go crazy with the dinner plans — that would be serving anything but meat and potatoes — she would whip up the version of Swedish pancakes she found in her 1962 edition of “Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook.”
By the time I started my own kitchen, those Swedish treats had risen to the top of my list of favorite foods. This being the pre-Google era, I turned to the recipe in my mother’s cookbook (page 80, tucked between the Blintz Pancakes and the Jiffy Orange Pancakes), though I soon knew the formula by memory and regularly doubled it to feed the growing crowd at my table.
In later years, new versions of the “Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook” crossed my desk at the Star Tribune, and I would check on the status of the recipe for Swedish pancakes. One day it disappeared. Some editor had decided that cooks no longer were interested in this delicacy.
Today if you google the recipe, you will find many references to that 1960s version from BH&G.
When my kids came along, Swedish pancakes were our one and only rendition of pancakes on Saturday mornings, even though it was a lengthy process to get everyone fed. The batter for these is so thin that it’s best to make them one at a time, a challenge when everyone is hungry.
Recently during a visit from my daughter and her family, I broke out the frying pan and reached for this wellused volume, which now has a spot on my bookshelf. I needed a reminder of the proportions that had once been so familiar.
Three eggs, 1 1/4 cups milk and 3/4 cup flour, with a little sugar and salt. I whisked the ingredients together by hand, then set to work producing the pancakes one by one.
As usual, those waiting were hungry. Not so usual, this was a first for the sonin-law and grandkids.
“I’ll have another,” said the son-in-law. “Make that two.”
The grandbaby demanded an extra pancake, too. After her second one, sprinkled with powdered sugar, she licked the plate clean, truly a first for my cooking.
Then again, she is only 2 1/2 years old.
Welcome to the tribe of those who eat Swedish pancakes.