Scrambled Pancakes: The Recipe

Did I really just type that in the title? The words, “The Recipe?”

Don’t get any bright ideas and think that the Jedi Mama Blog is turning into a cooking blog. It’s not. In order to have a cooking blog, I think you actually have to be a cook, and, although I can follow a recipe with the best chefs in America, I do not enjoy cooking. Our meals at the Jedi House tend to be easy meals. Tried-and-true meals. More farm-cooking than New-York-City-cooking. We can grill steaks and make salads. We can do homemade chicken noodle soup and stuffed baked potatoes and Hawaiian pork chops. Tacos? Yes. Spaghetti? Certainly. Eggplant Parmesan? Maybe not.

And also? Taking photographs of food preparation in the kitchen would bore me to tears, and every good cooking blog is well-stocked with photos. There will be no snapshots here of the scrambled pancakes, because I’d rather stick a pencil in my ear, than try to manipulate my camera while I’m stirring pancakes and slopping batter all over my stovetop. When I make a mess of my kitchen (which is every single time I cook), I like it to be a private thing, and not something shared via photos on the World Wide Web.

All that to say, “No. This is not a cooking blog. This is a blog, with a debut recipe.” And it’s because I have had three people (three living-and-breathing human beings!) email me and say, “Hey, will you give us the recipe for scrambled pancakes?” And also? The people who stumble across my blog all the way from Mexico City, Sweden, Germany, the US’s Eastern Seaboard and Australia? They all — each and every single one of them — found my blog by doing a Google search on two words.

Scrambled Pancakes.

This is my friend Christy’s recipe. Christy can bake anything. Anything, people. You can give her a bag of flour, a bag of sugar, and a bottle of vanilla extract, and she will combine those three ingredients to make pastries that will cause you to weep with pleasure. Of course, she’ll sneak real butter in there, too, because everyone knows that any dessert worth having isn’t any good unless the girl doing the baking has used one or twenty-seven pats of Land O’ Lakes.

My friend, Cody (who actually has something of a cooking blog), would tell you, “Go and get all of your ingredients and utensils out first, which will save time in the long run.” I tend to do exactly the opposite of that. I like to just race around the kitchen, like the proverbial chicken with her head cut off, spilling flour and dropping the bag of sugar, as I search for everything as I’m cooking. Getting everything out beforehand would involve Cooking Preparation and Planning, and I just fly by the seat of my pants. And no, it doesn’t always work out better that way. Trust Cody. Get your stuff out beforehand.

The recipe:
1/4 cup sugar
1 cup flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup milk
2 egg yolks
2 egg whites
1/4 butter, melted

Now here’s what you do. Throw all the dry ingredients into one bowl. Yep. The sugar, the flour, the baking powder and the salt get to go in Bowl Number One. Mix it a little bit, so the salt isn’t all piled up in one spot.

The trickiest part in this recipe — the part which almost made me need a paper bag to breathe into — was the part where I had to separate the egg yolks from the whites. (Which makes me recall an old joke. Who’s Snow White’s brother? Give up? Her brother is Egg White. Get the yolk?) Anyway, I cannot prep you for separating yolks from whites; it’s either a rung in your DNA ladder that you were born with, passed down from your great-great-grandmother, Ruthie Bell, or you bought yourself a little, yellow egg separator from a Tupperware party that you attended in 1981, like my own sweet mama did.

In a second bowl, combine the cup of milk and the two egg yolks. Stir them up, good and proper, so that they unite and become one bowl of milky-yellowness. (Milky-yellowness. Yep. That’s a legitimate phrase in Webster’s, I’m sure.)

Put the egg whites in a third bowl.

Got that? Three bowls. Dry stuff. Wet stuff. Egg whites.

Now, toss your frying pan onto the stove, and throw the 1/4 cup of butter in there. Let it melt. Let it coat your pan. It’s doing double-duty here, you know. You’re greasing up your pan, so the pancakes don’t stick, AND you’re melting the butter. Because the recipe actually called for melted butter, you know.

Now, combine Bowls One and Two. Yep. Pour that milk and yolk mixture in with the dry stuff, while the butter’s melting. Mix. Make it look like regular old pancake batter. When the butter is melted, fold it and the egg whites into the bowl of batter slop. Fold it in, Betty Crocker.

Now, dump it all into your frying pan, which should be on a medium heat setting. Too hot will burn your scrambled pancakes; too cold…and they’ll take all day to cook up, and who has time to wait on that? I’m sure you have better things to do, like a load of laundry or organizing a closet.

Grab a spatula, and kind of stir the mixture around, just like you’re stirring up scrambled eggs. Break the batter apart. It’ll really break apart, as it starts to cook. Scramble things around several times while it cooks up. You’ll get the hang of it.

Cook until golden. The scrambled pancakes should be the exact same color as regular pancakes, but they should look like scrambled eggs.

Serve them in a bowl, because it’s easiest. Dump butter and Mrs. Butterworth’s and powdered sugar on them.

I just said that they’re good; I didn’t say that they were healthy.

There. Six months into the blogging industry, and I finally have posted a recipe.

Hubs does not like scrambled pancakes. Hubs liked them the first time I made them, but by Round Two, Hubs realized that they sort of tasted a lot like regular-old pancakes, with a different texture, and Hubs loathes regular-old pancakes. Hubs hates Velveeta, mushrooms, zucchini and pancakes. Hubs won’t eat these.

But the boy? Oh my lands! My boy will eat his weight in scrambled pancakes, and then complain because he still hasn’t broken sixty pounds.

Anyway, give the recipe a try. The boy and I like to have them for dinner, while Hubs dines on something else. Like Cheeto’s.

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