Stilettos In Sand: Inernational House of Pancakes

Yesterday, after almost two months of searching high and low in Luhansk for the necessary ingredients, I finally managed to make American-style pancakes!

Here in Ukraine, the term “pancake” refers to what we Americans know as a crepe. The outdoor stands here that sell pancakes (Blinok stands) sell them wrapped around various ingredients; my favorite to date is the pancake with ham and cheese. In fact, courtesy of our Interpreter, Lilia, who first introduced me to these Blinok stands in early December, I have developed a pancake-a-day habit (I can quit whenever I want to). Weather permitting, I get one of those suckers any and every chance I get. Mmmm…..

Anyway, I was explaining the difference between these crepes and actual American-style pancakes, but a verbal description of them will only go so far (this reminds me of a quote I once read: “Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.” I have no idea who said it, as it’s been attributed to various people, but it is quite the observation, no?) Anyway, I determined to make them last month, to share the goodness that is the American pancake, but was missing a key ingredient:

Maple syrup.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: maple syrup is not at ALL an ingredient in pancakes. And you’d be right… if I let you (which, typically, I don’t do. Just ask my husband). But when you think about it, it TOTALLY IS. Seriously, have you ever attempted to eat a pancake without maple syrup (or some kind of random, flavored syrup, like from that syrup-quad on all the tables at IHOP: blueberry, strawberry, butter pecan, and diabetes)? It's like eating a kitchen sponge. I generally prefer my pancake hangover to involve a spike in my blood sugar followed immediately by lethargy, not cottonmouth, thankyouverymuch.

And by the way, I would just like to point out here: is there anything even remotely “international” about the International House of Pancakes?? Aside from their Swedish crepes (with lingonberry butter and lingonberry preserves – thank you GOD for such food!), I daresay there is not. And I dare you to challenge me. Dare.

And no, those “Belgian waffles” don’t count, either. Having lived in Brussels, I know what an actual Belgian waffle tastes like, and that’s not it. Now I'm all waffle-snobby.

But I digress….

Finally, after an exhaustive yet ultimately unfruitful (unsyrupful?) search of every grocery store within reasonable driving distance of Luhansk, I finally tracked down a bottle of maple syrup in the capitol, Kyiv, last week.

With Vlad and Lilia (who was eager to try this much-hyped (by me) American food) at our apartment yesterday, I seized the opportunity (carpe crepe) to make the pancakes using this recipe. It took virtually no time at all, and even I – not typically what you’d call a “good cook” – could not, DID NOT, screw it up. (Note below, for the sake of a point of reference, the pumpkin cake I made in November. For the record, it made up in taste what it lacked in looks. Well, almost. Nothing could taste good enough to compensate for this travesty.)

(For the same record, I was planning to cover it with orange fondant, but I a) had not prepared the fondant at least a day in advance, which I believe is required by law; and b) have never worked with fondant ever before, so really the whole cake was a gamble to begin with. The fact that it remained even remotely spherical for upwards of an hour is itself a miracle.)

As for the pancakes, which fared much better than the Great Pumpkin, this former Bisquick Shake-‘n’- Pour devotee (powder in a bottle; just add water. What could possibly be unhealthy about this?) is officially a from-scratch pancake convert (Praise the Lord and pass the Mrs. Butterworth's!)

So, after only about 3 minutes’ prep time, I started cooking each pancake, one by one, in a small frying pan. They weren’t perfect, but they were still fantabulous (probably only because I'd waited for them for so long). Vlad defiled his by putting chocolate cream on top instead of butter and syrup (who does that?!), which completely defeated the purpose of my sharing with him some actual American-style food in the first place. His loss. Lilia and I ate our pancakes the right way, The American Way, and afterwards, were feeling fat and happy.

Here, for my Mother’s sake, is photographic evidence of my having cooked, from scratch, pancakes (note the actual flour scattered about the countertop. That's my handiwork, I'll have you know!).

Eat this, IHOP.