Foods of Durham Past: Swedish Pancakes

What we have here is a very poor picture of a very yummy food.

Explanation: I took this with my phone at a friend’s crepe party last month because I knew I wouldn't get around to making them myself, but it is an important food of Durham past. Only we called them Swedish pancakes because that’s what Dad called them.

It’s not like I’ve never made them before, but they never live up to Dad’s. Why? Because I don’t have the big cast iron skillet – I have a cheapo non-stick pan that does the job, but they aren’t nearly as good as Dad's (I need my Sur la Table employee discount back so I can get me a skillet).

This really was Dad’s signature dish and it was a big deal every time he decided to make them – usually on Saturday mornings. He had to have the kitchen spotless, the apron would come on and there could be no distractions. Mom can prepare a meal in a cluttered kitchen, talk on the phone, watch television and teach a piano student, while Dad can have zero visual and audible distractions because he’s trying to flip a pancake for crying out loud. I could say it’s a Mom/Dad thing, but I really think it’s a male/female thing. Women are just better at multitasking.

Crepe parties are pretty popular and guests are typically asked to bring a “topping”. You get bananas, berries, Nutella, whipped cream, syrup, etc. But crepes at the Durham house were traditionally served with melted butter, sprinkled with cinnamon and powdered sugar and squirted with fresh lemon juice and then rolled up.

My mouth is watering.

So at this crepe party I decided to bring butter, cinnamon powdered sugar and lemons. People didn’t try it at first, but after they got their familiar crepe with sliced fruit and whipped cream out of the way they gave my toppings a go, and they were surprised at how good it was.

This is how things typically went at the Durham home: Dad required that we tell him up front how many we could eat (I got better at gauging this as I got older. I’m not sure what my record is – maybe 5 or 6). The first pancake would either break into pieces or it would be mediocre. Dad would eat it or someone would settle for it. In fact, selfish little kids usually want their food first, but we knew the second pancake was always better than the first, so we all fought for the second pancake slot. Carter liked his “light” and I liked mine “medium” – meaning, a little darker. When we were really little Dad would put the butter, sugar and lemon on for us, and then ask if we wanted them cut in “big ones”, “little ones” or “triangles.”

We’d take turns eating them one at a time. So after everyone got one, you were back in the loop for seconds, thirds, and so on. Sometimes right before your turn, after Dad flipped your pancake, his face would light up with convincing anticipation as he declared the next pancake was most likely the best Swedish pancake he has ever made.

Would I eat them again? You better believe it.
Would I make them again? So I cheated and didn't make these myself. But it's been over a week and I needed a post. But yes, I will.
Would I feed them to friends? If they're nice.