An Ode to Excess

Sometimes more really is more

A cooking site — and you know who you are — recently published a recipe for “everyday pancakes.”

I am here to say that there is nothing “everyday” about pancakes. Their entire purpose in life is to prove that a few simple ingredients can become absolutely extraordinary. They exist to wake you up, make you happy and send you out into the world with hope in your heart. That’s a tall order for a little cake, and it cannot be achieved by stinting. The minute you start worrying that they’re too rich you’ve defeated the whole purpose of pancakes. 

Pancake magic is not for the eater alone. Their chemistry is also enchanting: the cook gets to watch a simple mixture of butter, flour, eggs, and milk puff itself up a=and turn into a sassy little cake. 

The speed of the transformation always astonishes me. I stand, mesmerized, watching bubbles form, watching edges crisp, savoring the drama of the flip and the generosity of the scent that surrounds me. There may be a better way to start the day; I haven’t found it. 

If your pancakes aren’t this much fun, it’s time for a change. My basic pancake recipe is so delicious you could easily forego the syrup. But what I love most is that, unlike other pancakes, they respect syrup and refuse to behave like floppy sponges. Whatever recipe you use, however, it will be better if you remember the pancake rules.

The first rule of pancakes: Don’t use a mix. Let me repeat that: Don’t use a mix. It saves no time, it tastes no good — and it costs more money.

The second rule of pancakes: Don’t even think about using inferior maple syrup. A good pancake deserves the very best.

The third rule of pancakes: Don’t skimp. I know my recipe has a lot of butter, but where pancakes are concerned, more is always more. 

Here’s my recipe. I’ve made this so often that I can pull it together in under a minute. After you’ve done it a few times you’ll be able to do that too. This is not diet food, but I promise that these pancakes will make your family very, very happy.  

Pancakes

1 stick butter
1 cup milk
2 large eggs
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 cup flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
4 teaspoons sugar
1 teaspoon salt

Melt a stick of butter in a heavy skillet. Whisk together a cup of milk, 2 large eggs and a tablespoon of vegetable oil, then add the butter. Put the buttery skillet back on the burner, ready for the pancakes. 

Whisk the flour with the baking powder, sugar and salt. Whisk the mixture into the butter mixture, just until it’s combined. Don’t overmix. Allow to sit for a moment, then add enough milk to make it pourable.

Pour some batter into the skillet. The size is up to you; sometimes I make them tiny for children, sometimes I make them ludicrously large. Watch as the bubbles appear in the batter, grow larger, and then pop and vanish. When most have popped, carefully flip the pancake and cook the other side.  

Rush the pancakes to the table as each one is finished. You want them hot, sweet, salty and a little bit crisp. You want the memory to linger with your family as they move through their day. 

(This is enough batter to feed four generously. It will keep in the refrigerator for a couple of days; you will probably want to thin it out with a bit more milk before using.)

Click HERE for a printable recipe

And speaking of excess….this meat makes you moan with pleasure.

When Erik Black was cooking at Campanile in Los Angeles he ended every shift at Langer’s Deli, eating a pastrami sandwich. He became so obsessed with pastrami that he decided to go on a pastrami pilgrimage which took him from Katz’s in New York to Schwartz’s in Montreal. Then someone suggested that he might want to go down south to observe the way brisket is done in Texas.

The result is Ugly Drum pastrami, a hybrid that borrows a bit from everywhere. Erik sources his meat from a small ranch that raises sustainable beef, wet brines it in spices and then slowly smokes the meat over mesquite, oak and pecan wood. The result is spicy, smoky, startlingly delicious. Send this to someone for Christmas, and you’ve got a friend for life.

Continuing in the spirit of excess, I offer this menu from one of the most excessive venues I know, The Inn at Little Washington. When Phyllis Richman, the wonderful restaurant critic of the Washington Post (and the world’s hardest working newswoman), retired in 2000, Patrick O’Connell invited a few of his closest friends to cook a farewell feast. It was quite a bash!