Deflated

It's been a long weekend for me, punctuated by my piano students' recital and another term paper to write with the consequent soul-sucking boredom and isolation. Unfortunately, the only cooking I've done in over a week could hardly be called that. I made "Popeye Pancakes" on Thursday morning for breakfast. It's a recipe that I got from my boss, and it's not something I ever ate growing up. The recipe drew the name "Popeye" not because it contains spinach, but because it puffs up in the oven during cooking. Its popular aliases are "Dutch Baby," "German Pancake," and "Hootenanny." It's simple and quick. Although I have made this one from memory a few times, with unintentionally modified quantities and methods, it always turns out pretty well. My recipe seems to be scaled up from the more common skillet-size version.

Popeye Pancakes
Serves 6

1 stick of butter
1 1/3 c. milk
1 1/3 c. flour
8 eggs
pinch salt
powdered sugar
fresh fruit
syrup

Preheat oven to 400º. Melt butter in 9x13" pan in preheating oven. Combine milk, flour, and salt in large bowl. Add eggs, one at a time, beating after each addition. Add the melted butter and mix again. Pour the batter into the greased pan. Bake for 18-20 minutes. Sprinkle pancake generously with powdered sugar and serve with fruit or syrup. It's best served immediately, while still inflated like my ego, before it becomes as dense as my personality.

Search the flickr pages for "dutch baby," and you'll not only find pictures of pancakes, but also actual Dutch babies. This one's even in front of a flock of tulips, which, you know, doesn't perpetuate any cultural stereotypes.