Pippi Longstocking

BUTTERMILK PANCAKES

When I was six, my older sister and I were playing Dog School and I split my eyelid open. Oh, you don’t know what Dog School is? Dog School consisted, quite simply, of my sister Ande and me pretending we were dogs—crawling around on all fours, barking, panting, and generally irritating my mother to no end. When my sister tired of the game (or, more specifically, of me) she would herd me into the bathroom, otherwise known as “Dog School,” with our real dog, an enormous yellow Lab named Nate, and barricade the door so that we couldn’t get out.

I had to stay in there for a long time in order to learn all of the doggish things that all dogs need to know—or at least until my mom got wind of the whole thing and let me out. One night, Nate grew restless and, in an attempt to escape, jostled me into a table. I went into it face-first, splitting the skin just below my eyebrow and leaving me banging on the door screaming to get out with blood gushing down my face.

After some tears and quite a few stitches, I was sent home from the hospital with a big black patch over my eye, looking like the tiniest, saddest pirate ever. The worst part was that my dad had finally gotten us tickets to “Disney on Ice” the next night—an event that my sister and I had been begging to see for months. The TV commercials for it were relentless, airing seemingly every ten minutes. Each time Mickey and Princess Ariel glided past us on the screen we both let out a little whimper of helpless longing, and our determination to see them grew stronger. What a cruel and terrible fate that when I finally got to see this majestic display I could only half see it.

I squinted with my one good eye all night, trying desperately to see everything. This, combined with all the cotton candy I ate, left me with a searing headache. By the time I got home I was in full meltdown mode, sick and disappointed and overstimulated (so many sequins!). In an attempt to calm me down, my dad found a copy of Pippi Longstocking and, thinking that maybe the stories of her pirate father might make me feel better about my patched eye, tucked me into bed and began reading it to me.

Some advice for all parents out there: if you have a kid who is already overwrought and anxious, Astrid Lindgren’s Pippi Longstocking is not the book you should read to her. Ande, ever the party girl, was thrilled by the book, laughing aloud and kicking her feet at Pippi’s brazenness and spontaneity, but I was horrified. Her unpredictability bewildered me—her life was an unstructured nightmare, a circus! And I hated circuses. Even her appearance terrified me—those untamed flaming red pigtails, that cavernous gap in her garish smile. In the same way that Amelia Bedelia frustrated me with her constant mess-ups, and Guy Smiley’s inability, on Sesame Street, to control his voice sent me into a panic, Pippi’s chaotic existence had me stressed.

The only thing I found redeeming about Pippi was her cooking prowess. Pancakes were Pippi’s specialty. She even had a song she would sing while she was making them, for which my dad made up a tune: “Here pancakes will be baked now / Here pancakes will be served now / Here pancakes will be fried now!” When Pippi cracked the eggs from high above the bowl and flipped the pancakes way over her head, then topped them with sugar and served them with a side of brown sausages or pineapple pudding, it made me despise her a little bit less.

The morning after “Disney on Ice” I woke up ravenous for pancakes, which were not often served at our house. There was cereal for breakfast, donuts if we were lucky, and lots of Pop-Tarts and toaster strudels, but who has time, with three young kids, for pancakes? Surprisingly, though, my mother obliged my request and together we cracked eggs and sifted flour, and she taught me how to watch for the ring of bubbles around the edge of each pancake that lets you know that it’s time to flip.

We talked about the book as we cooked, and I asked my mom how she would feel if a girl like Pippi were to move in next door. She told me she wouldn’t like it very much, and that she understood why Pippi made Tommy and Annika’s mother (and me) so nervous. Lost in the rhythm of my mother’s whisking, all of the anxiety I had felt over the past few days over my eye, and “Disney on Ice,” and Pippi Longstocking evaporated. It’s one of my favorite memories—a moment when I felt very close to my mother.

Years later, faced with the prospect of having to make fifty quarts of pancake batter for a single brunch shift at the Brooklyn restaurant Colonie, separating hundreds of eggs and whisking quarts of egg whites to stiff peaks, folding them into batter until my arm felt as if it would fall off, I remembered that morning with my mother, talking about a book and finding peace in the rhythm of the kitchen, and I instantly felt calmer. The result was the best pancake I ever made—crisp at the edges and fluffy inside, not too sweet and not too buttermilk-tangy—it’s a pancake that I think even Pippi would approve of. And though I can’t stand her, this is important to me.

PIPPI LONGSTOCKING

Buttermilk Pancakes

Makes 12 to 15 pancakes

6 large eggs, separated

3⅓ cups full-fat buttermilk

2 teaspoons baking soda

3 cups all-purpose flour

2 tablespoons sugar

4 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon kosher salt

6 tablespoons (¾ stick) unsalted butter, browned and cooled slightly

Butter and pure maple syrup, for serving

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a whisk attachment, whisk the egg yolks on medium until pale yellow and very smooth, about 3 minutes. With the mixer still running, add the buttermilk and baking soda and whisk until well incorporated. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt, and slowly begin adding this dry mixture to the running mixer. When all of the dry ingredients are incorporated, add the browned butter and whisk until the batter is very smooth.

Transfer the batter from the mixer to a separate bowl. Rinse the mixer bowl, dry it, and add the egg whites. Whip with the whisk attachment until stiff peaks form. Gently fold the egg whites into the batter until they are incorporated.

Let the batter settle for 15 to 20 minutes before frying on a very hot griddle. Serve warm, with butter and maple syrup (or brown sausages and pineapple pudding).