Oh Joy! Ode to Swedish Pancakes

I was born and raised in the Midwestern town of Rockford, Illinois. It was heavily, overwhelmingly Swedish. And while I've not a drop of Swedish blood, my taste buds were inevitably influenced; primarily by Swedish pancakes. Granted, frequent family trips to places like the Swedish Pancake House and Stockholm Inn have a lot to do with my love of Swedish pancakes. Like many comfort foods, they transport me back to happy times in the arms of a loving family.

So why, you might ask, has it taken me decades to learn to cook this delightful treat? The short answer is that they aren't terribly easy or intuitive. Plus, despite being a pretty good and often adventurous cook, the risk of failure where it really mattered to me was intimidating. Years and thousands of miles away from my Swedish hometown, living in a small, rural western town and relegated to seeking out iHop on business trips, I often bought Swedish pancake mix only to toss it later when it became clear that the expiration date preceded the birth of several neighborhood children.

When I turned fifty, my resolution was to learn and participate in at least one, major new skill or activity each year for the rest of my life. Still, more than a decade later, Swedish pancakes had not even made the list. Well, it hovered at the bottom for a while, but then there was that one huge failed attempt.

About a year ago I decided this was it and bought a Swedish plätt pan. Surely the right equipment would make this a success. Swedish pancake batter is extremely thin, doesn't bubble like traditional batter, requires high pan heat as well as exquisite timing and a great spatula to turn. I have never seen such a mess of mistimed, both underdone and burned slop in my life. Yuck! The pan went into the cupboard for over a year.

Last week it made a brief appearance, but the batter was old, the heat high enough to start the butter in the pan on fire and set off our smoke alarm and the final results were underdone - but a bit closer to actual pancakes than the ball of batter I tossed the year before. While neither my husband (nor the cats - who clearly do not like loud smoke alarm noises) were terribly impressed, I was encouraged.

So today, my resolve firmly in place, new batter in the cupboard and a few clues as to what not to do, I made Swedish pancakes. Real, edible if not yet perfect Swedish pancakes. While I have a long way to go, this morning's Swedish pancakes can be considered a success. Evenly done (mostly), unripped from turning, pansized and round (again, mostly), properly thin they lacked only the traditional lingonberies. Repetition may even be possible! Maybe even from a scratch recipe rather than a box mix!

Best of all, while I was eating Dad, Mom, Melanie and Michele were right there in the room with me.