Welcome to Between the Layers! I’m glad you’re here for the weekly recipe and conversation! When Someone Doesn’t Measure & The Only Pancake You’ll Ever Need - No. 3And do you think beef should be cancelled?
My husband made pancakes last Saturday morning. He grabbed a mixing bowl in one hand and a sack of flour in the other. He dumped the flour into the bowl, rummaged the shelf for baking powder, and reached to the back of the fridge for buttermilk. No buttermilk. Also no measuring cups - he doesn’t use them. We’ve been married for nearly 30 years, and I’ve learned that he’s not going to measure, just like he doesn’t ask for directions when we’re lost on vacation. But unlike those car trips that can wind up in the wrong place, his pancakes - and cornbread - are always spot on. Same with poached eggs and hollandaise. Same with Dutch Baby. Same with grilling a filet over charcoal. The guy drives me crazy because he doesn’t measure, but does it even matter? Which gets me to this question:
It may be flour or cornmeal instead of sand and cement he’s using, but the randomness, the ability to substitute yogurt and sour cream for missing buttermilk, knowing how much oil to add, how many eggs, how hot to get the skillet before pouring in the batter. The guy may not measure, but he’s either incredibly lucky or a natural. I like to think both.
Measuring cups, tablespoons, kitchen scales are more precise than the tools that preceded them - wine glasses, butter the size of an egg, a pinch.Cooks have figured out ways to shortcut measuring either because they’re in a hurry, don’t have the tools, or are pretty darned confident. Do you have unique ways to measure? Would love to hear about them. When slicing cake layers in half horizontally, it’s similar to hanging a picture on the wall - I eyeball it. But my friend Martha is like a surgeon: She measures the halfway point of the total height of the layer, inserts toothpicks all around the cake to prick holes to mark the midpoints, and with a serrated knife carefully slices the cake at those holes, rotating the cake in her left hand as she slices with her right. That’s why Martha has worked with me to test and write recipes for so long! I do love a precise cook when it comes to recipes that I want to bake and write about. For example, I want to know if the 3 cups flour in the bread recipe was determined by scooping the flour into the cup and leveling it off - my way - or by dipping the cup into the bag of flour and coming back up with a cupful - the way you often see on TV. That second method - scooping - packs more flour into the cup, and if you measure this way but the creator of the recipe did not, it might be the reason your breads, cakes, and cookies are dry. And it’s the reason so many accomplished bakers use a kitchen scale instead of measuring cups. Men don’t measure and women are obsessed with it.Author and historian Laura Shapiro writes in the April issue of The Atlantic that, to no surprise, women have been the measurers. She says it wasn’t until recipes that required gadgets and grilling and flaming with a torch came into vogue that men even wanted to get in the kitchen and cook something. (Are we surprised?) And the first cookbooks aimed at men steered clear of measuring spoons. Malcolm LaPrade, the author of That Man in the Kitchen (1946), Shapiro says, found it so difficult to measure that he prefaced his book to say measurements were approximate, and added, “I hope no man will feel bound to follow them.” (Obviously, my husband checked out this library book somewhere along the line.) So when The New York Times editor Sam Sifton’s new cookbook called The New York Times Cooking No-Recipe Recipes was written without specific measurements, readers wondered if cooking off the cuff like Sifton advised was more common with men than women. It’s certainly true in our house, but Sifton seems to be writing not so much to gender as he is to experienced cooks who through trial and error have built confidence. They know how to wield a knife, sling some hash, get dinner on the table, and are comfortable making last-minute ingredient swaps. I do see the beauty in being able to cook with what’s in your pantry, not dashing to the store, and also have an open mind that you may be creating a whole new recipe of your own.
A little known secret — one summer my husband worked as a cook at a Wyoming ranch for real cowboys.He fried eggs, bacon, and flipped plenty of pancakes. Toward the end of the summer, they went on a cattle drive, which took them further away from the ranch, but he still cooked pancakes each morning. Honestly, I’ve never cooked pancakes outdoors but have a kitchen pantry of different flours and know all their subtle differences. If you come to my house for pancakes, I’ll consider what kind of pancake, what texture, and what you’d like to go with them. I use cake flour for delicate pancakes and toss in some grated lemon zest. I blend flours, adding a bit of buckwheat for color and flavor. I know how to construct a perfect pancake, but I don’t have pancake rapture, that feeling when you wake up that you’re ready to cook pancakes. The Cowboy rustles up pancakes at home.I hear a rattle of stainless steel bowls, the shutting of cabinet doors, and items being shifted back and forth in the fridge. It’s Saturday morning, which means pancakes. “What kind of flour did you use?” I ask while the pancakes sizzle in the pan. “Whatever’s in the blue bag on the top shelf.” “That’s bread flour, isn’t it?” (I usually don’t care what flour he uses but now I do because I need to extract measurement from the man who doesn’t measure.) “Do you mean cake flour?” I ask, helpfully. (The cake flour is in a blue box next to the blue bag of King Arthur bread flour.) Silence. He used bread flour. “I thought with pancakes you needed some structure,” he begins. “You know, needed something to hold up the blueberries and help the pancakes keep their shape.” The guy is never in doubt. “What else did you add?” I ask. “Baking powder.” “How much?” “A good bit, maybe a tablespoon.” “When did you add...?” And then I stop. I sound like I’m quizzing the CDC on vaccine. It’s only pancakes. “I added the blueberries at the last,” he adds with confidence, as if reading my mind. Three pancakes are placed in front of me - hot, filled with blueberries, with all the structure he promised, and well browned on both sides. They don’t need butter, and it doesn’t matter that the maple syrup is straight from the fridge and still cold. I eat every bite. I inhale it, and he asks if I’d like another.
It doesn’t matter if someone cooks differently than you do, if their bread flour is your cake flour. What matters is that you have someone to cook for you. And their cooking tastes better than your own. It reminds you that your way is not the only way. This is the lesson I find hardest to learn. The Recipe....The Only Pancake You’ll Ever NeedI shared this recipe in my book Skillet Love, and it’s a goodie. But as we all have different cooking styles, and getting a recipe from my husband’s deliciously chaotic way of making pancakes was impossible, we collaborated on what follows. You will find my measurements and his wise advice. And you already know that I use cake flour and he uses bread flour, which results in a different texture - the former lighter, the latter sturdier but better suited to folding in those blueberries. We agree that the secret to light pancakes is buttermilk, and plenty of it. He doesn’t like the flavor of baking soda, so he sticks with just baking powder (double the baking powder in this recipe if you follow his advice and omit the soda.) The reaction of buttermilk with leavening gives pancakes their lightness. In fact, seeing bubbles on the top of the pancakes is your signal to flip them. And pro tip from the ranch cook - add very little oil to the griddle or frying pan. Use a well-seasoned cast iron or non-stick. Too much oil causes a mottled appearance on pancakes, instead of the smooth tanned appearance you want. Makes 18 to 24 pancakes (3 inches each); serves about 6 Prep: 15 to 20 minutes Cook: 4 to 5 minutes per batch 8 tablespoons (1/2 cup; 1 stick) unsalted butter (He uses vegetable oil) 2 large eggs (I separate; he doesn’t) 2 1/2 cups buttermilk (If you’re out of buttermilk, use sour cream or Greek yogurt) 2 tablespoons granulated sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla (He says you don’t need it) 2 1/2 cups cake flour (He says to use whatever flour is on the shelf) 1 teaspoon baking powder 1 teaspoon baking soda 1/2 teaspoon salt 2 teaspoons or more vegetable oil, for frying Fresh fruit, for garnish (He folds a big handful of berries into the batter) Melted butter, for drizzling Maple syrup or honey
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