Aloha, and welcome to our fully-fledged website, friends. And your first inaugural blog post shall be brought to you by the letter P. For Pancakes. Fluffy, pillow-soft, blanket-warm creme fraiche pancakes that are waiting to snuggle up on your belly.
I, personally, have never been much of a pancake person. They were never delightfully crispy and chewy like waffles, and tended to be a floppy, rubbery waste-of-carbs that were only palatable with butter and syrup.
But then I met a man. On a mission. To create a pancake to end all pancakes. (And later a French toast to end all French toasts, but more on that in another post.)
He starts with a specially selected flour that’s as light as fairy cakes. Creme fraiche for luxury. A touch of sweetness. And then comes the hand mixing.
“The reason, Alice, ” Glen told me, with a strong lick of Little Tokyo in his voice, “why pancakes come out so tough is cuz people use things like Kitchen Aid or electric beaters. It develops the gluten too much and they turn out like rubber.”
That’s why he mixes each pancake by hand, softly, gently, careful not to awaken the sleeping proteins, lest it becomes the floppy, tasteless stuff of IHOP lore.
Instead of forcing his French technique onto the pancake, he lets the flour and the thick creme fraiche to guide his hand, and show him where the sweet spot is. And then he lets it rest, so that when the batter hits the hot griddle, the pancake shall rise as high as heaven’s pillows.
And while it’s topped with a citrus-kissed butter and you’ve got to dress it up with TCHO chocolate or to have it infused with the best Earl Grey, it’s something that’s been so carefully tended to, so humbly respected in the kitchen, it doesn’t need a drop of syrup.
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