Cinnamon Pancakes

The taps are in. I drilled the first holes Monday morning, before breakfast, before the temperature climbed above freezing, because that is when you want to drill — cold, tree dormant, the wound you make in the bark clean and ready. I set forty-two taps this year, same as last year, same as the year before. The maples along the north fence are the best producers: big trees, good girth, southern exposure on the crown. My grandfather noted in his account books which trees gave the most sap. I know which trees those are. The knowledge passes without needing to be written down.

The sap ran for the first time Thursday. I was at the sugarhouse at six in the morning and I heard it before I saw it — the ping of sap hitting the bottom of an empty metal bucket, steady and small and the best sound in Vermont between November and June. By afternoon I had enough for the first boil of the season. The ratio is still about forty to one this year — forty gallons of sap to one gallon of syrup — which is what my grandfather noted in 1941 in a cold spring. This is a cold spring too. The math is the math.

Helen brought me coffee and a sandwich at noon and sat on the sugarhouse step with me while the evaporator ran. Frost lay in the snow at the sugarhouse door, which is his position during boiling season: close enough to supervise, far enough to stay comfortable. The steam from the evaporator rose into the cold air and the smell of it was extraordinary, the way it is every year, the way it will be next year. I told Helen it was a good run so far. She said she knows. She looked at the steam and the trees and did not say anything else for a while, which is exactly what that moment required.

We ate pancakes for dinner with the first syrup of the season. This is a tradition that requires no defense. The first syrup of the year tastes like the year beginning. Everything else is ordinary by comparison.

We have made these cinnamon pancakes on the first night of syrup season for more years than I can count — and the reason is simple: a plain pancake is just a vehicle, but a cinnamon pancake is a worthy partner to fresh syrup. The warm spice holds up against that first amber pour in a way that plain flour and butter cannot. If you are going to wait forty gallons of sap for one gallon of something extraordinary, you want something on the plate that rises to meet it.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 cup milk
1 large egg
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted, plus more for the pan
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Fresh maple syrup, for serving

Instructions

Mix dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, and sugar until evenly combined.
Mix wet ingredients. In a separate bowl or large measuring cup, whisk together the milk, egg, melted butter, and vanilla extract.
Combine. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and stir gently until just combined. A few lumps are fine — do not overmix, or the pancakes will be tough.
Rest the batter. Let the batter sit for 5 minutes while you heat the pan. This allows the baking powder to begin working and the flour to hydrate fully.
Heat the pan. Heat a griddle or large skillet over medium heat and add a small pat of butter. When the butter foams and subsides, the pan is ready.
Cook the pancakes. Pour approximately 1/4 cup of batter per pancake onto the griddle. Cook until bubbles form across the surface and the edges look set, about 2 to 3 minutes. Flip and cook the second side until golden, about 1 to 2 minutes more.
Keep warm and serve. Transfer finished pancakes to a plate in a low oven (200°F) while you cook the remaining batter. Serve immediately with generous amounts of fresh maple syrup.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cinnamon Pancakes — The First Syrup of the Season Deserves the Best Stack