Fluffy Old Fashioned Pancakes

The first ultrasound. Nine weeks. Dr. Ramachandran's office, pandemic protocols — mask, temperature check, only one partner allowed. Raj came. He held my hand. Different from the first ultrasound with Anaya, when I didn't know what to expect. This time I knew. I knew the cold gel, the grainy screen, the moment where the sound fills the room. The heartbeat. Strong. Fast. The flicker on the screen that is the difference between hope and certainty. Raj leaned forward. He's a cardiologist. Hearts are his language. "One-sixty BPM," he whispered, reading the monitor. "Perfect." Dr. Ramachandran said everything looked normal. Measuring on track. One baby ("Just one?" Raj asked, as if the universe might surprise us with twins as a pandemic bonus). She printed the ultrasound image. I held it the way I held Anaya's — like evidence, like proof, like a photograph of someone I already love. "Do you want to know the sex at the anatomy scan?" she asked. "Yes," we said simultaneously. I drove home holding the ultrasound image on my lap. The sesame seed is now a grape, which is now an olive, which will become a person. The fruit metaphors continue. Three more weeks until we tell people. Three more weeks of holding the olive. I made Amma's appam — the sweet version, with jaggery. The celebration food, the good-news food. Raj ate four. Anaya ate one and declared it "yum." The olive ate nothing because olives don't have mouths yet. But the heartbeat. One-sixty BPM. Strong. Fast. Alive. We're doing this. Again. In a pandemic. With a toddler. With a marriage held together by therapy and Saturday dinners. With a mother whose cognitive score is 22. With a book half-written. With a world on fire. We're doing this.

I grew up watching Amma make sweet appam for every piece of good news — the kind of food that means something happened today that deserves to be honored. After we came home from Dr. Ramachandran’s office with that ultrasound photo and one-sixty BPM written into my heart, I needed to make something sweet and soft and warm that everyone in the house could eat around the same table. These fluffy old-fashioned pancakes are the closest I can get outside of Amma’s kitchen — pillowy, golden, made from simple things — and Raj ate four of them, which felt exactly right.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 8 pancakes

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 cups buttermilk (or 1 1/4 cups milk + 1 tablespoon white vinegar, rested 5 minutes)
1 large egg
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Butter or neutral oil, for the pan

Instructions

Mix dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt until evenly combined.
Mix wet ingredients. In a separate medium bowl, whisk together the buttermilk, egg, melted butter, and vanilla extract until smooth.
Combine. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and stir gently with a spatula until just combined — a few lumps are fine. Do not overmix or the pancakes will be tough. Let the batter rest for 5 minutes.
Heat the pan. Warm a non-stick skillet or griddle over medium heat. Add a small pat of butter or a drizzle of oil and swirl to coat. The pan is ready when a drop of water sizzles on contact.
Cook the pancakes. Pour about 1/4 cup of batter per pancake onto the hot pan. Cook until bubbles form across the surface and the edges look set, about 2—3 minutes. Flip and cook the second side until golden brown, 1—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 with maple syrup, a drizzle of honey, or a sprinkle of jaggery crumbles if you have them.

Nutrition (per serving)

Fluffy Old Fashioned Pancakes — The Sweet, Celebratory Stack I Made When the Heartbeat Was Strong