Amish Potato Pancakes

Mother's Day. The holiday I have always navigated like a woman crossing a river on stones that might or might not hold her weight. Who do I honor? Karen, who raised me, who is in Bellevue with shaking-but-not-yet-shaking hands, who made me tuna casserole and read me bedtime stories and loved me without knowing how to love all of me? Or Jisoo ╬ôçö the name I found in the adoption database, the woman I have never spoken to, the mother who is theoretical, who exists in my body but not in my life? Dr. Yoon says I can honor both. Dr. Yoon says the heart is not a zero-sum game. Dr. Yoon is right and I am still standing in the river, testing stones.

I made Karen's tuna casserole. Not because it's good ╬ôçö it is aggressively mediocre, cream of mushroom soup and egg noodles and canned tuna and a topping of crushed potato chips that is nutritionally indefensible ╬ôçö but because it is Karen's, and Karen is my mother, one of my mothers, and Mother's Day is for making the food that says: I remember. I remember your kitchen. I remember your hands before they shook. I remember being small and watching you stir and thinking that was what safety looked like. The casserole went to the Bellevue porch. Karen called to say thank you and her voice was thick and I knew she was crying and I was crying and we were two women on opposite sides of a phone and a pandemic and twenty-seven years of imperfect love, crying over a casserole that doesn't even taste that good.

James made scallion pancakes for dinner ╬ôçö pajeon, he calls them, because he's learned the Korean name, because he is a man who pays attention. His version uses the Taiwanese technique his mother taught him but Korean ingredients: gochugaru in the dipping sauce, kimchi folded into the batter. Korean-Taiwanese fusion, which is what we are, which is what our kitchen is becoming. The pancakes were crispy and perfect and we ate them standing at the counter because the table was covered in James's work papers and standing at the counter eating pancakes felt like the right level of formality for a Monday night in a pandemic.

Kevin texted: "Happy Mother's Day to the woman who will be an incredible mom someday." I stared at it for a long time. Kevin, who doesn't search for his birth mother, who doesn't honor the concept the way I do, sent me that. My brother sees a future I haven't committed to yet. The someday sits in my chest like a warm stone. Not today. But someday. And the kitchen is ready.

James’s pajeon was perfect that night — crispy at the edges, soft in the middle, eaten standing up because that was exactly the right amount of ceremony for what the day had been. I keep thinking about how a pancake, of all things, can hold so much: his mother’s technique, Korean ingredients, the two of us building something that is ours. These Amish potato pancakes aren’t pajeon, but they live in the same spirit — humble, pan-fried, ready in minutes, and somehow more nourishing than anything fancier could have been. Make them on a weeknight when the table is covered in papers and standing at the counter is exactly right.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4 (about 8 pancakes)

Ingredients

2 cups shredded raw russet potatoes (about 2 medium), excess moisture squeezed out
1/4 cup finely diced yellow onion
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
2–3 tablespoons vegetable oil or butter, for frying
Sour cream or applesauce, for serving

Instructions

Prep the potatoes. Shred the peeled potatoes on the large holes of a box grater. Place in a clean kitchen towel and wring firmly to remove as much liquid as possible — this is the key to crispy pancakes.
Mix the batter. In a large bowl, combine the shredded potatoes, diced onion, beaten eggs, flour, salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Stir until the mixture holds together when pressed.
Heat the pan. Heat a large cast-iron or nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add enough oil or butter to coat the bottom generously — about 1 tablespoon per batch.
Form and cook. Drop heaping spoonfuls (about 1/4 cup each) of the potato mixture into the hot pan, pressing gently into rounds about 1/2 inch thick. Cook 3–4 minutes per side, until deeply golden and crispy at the edges. Do not press down or move them too early.
Drain and repeat. Transfer finished pancakes to a paper-towel-lined plate. Add fresh oil between batches as needed and continue with remaining batter.
Serve. Serve hot with sour cream, applesauce, or any dipping sauce you love. They are best eaten immediately, standing at the counter if the table is otherwise occupied.

Nutrition (per serving)

Amish Potato Pancakes — The Pancakes That Felt Like Home on a Monday Night