By April is mud and promise in equal measure. The driveway is impassable for two weeks every April — this is Vermont's fifth season, known locally as mud season, and it is exactly what it sounds like. I have been parking at the road and walking in, which is good for me even if it is not good for my boots. The left leg protests the uneven ground. The shrapnel has been protesting cold and uneven ground since 1972. We have reached an accommodation.
The snowdrops are done and the crocuses are up now — Helen planted a hundred crocus bulbs in October of last year along the south side of the house, which is a project I helped with by digging the holes while she placed each bulb with the concentration of a surgeon. They are yellow and purple and white. Helen stands at the kitchen window and looks at them every morning. She has been doing this for thirty years with whatever she planted along the south side. She planted those bulbs in October knowing she would be looking at them in April. This is gardening as an act of faith.
I have been working on a blog post about the maple season with the grandchildren. About teaching Teddy to drill and hang buckets. About the ratio — forty to one — which he compared to reading, which I found more perceptive than most of my students' literary analysis in thirty-eight years of English class. The post is taking longer than usual because I keep writing more than I need. Helen says this is what happens when the subject matters too much. She says to cut anything that sounds like a speech. I am cutting.
The woman from the Historical Society is coming Thursday to look at the account books. I have set them out on the sugarhouse shelf in order, 1921 through 1948. Twenty-seven years of my grandfather's handwriting. The precise records of a man doing what he loved. There is no better document of a life.
After a morning of watching Teddy drill his first tap and hearing him explain the forty-to-one ratio back to me with the gravity of a scholar, we come inside cold and smelling of sap and woodsmoke, and Helen has already heated the oven. These pop-up muffins — puffed and golden and done in twenty minutes — are what she makes on sugarhouse mornings, because they are ready before your boots are dry and they hold a full tablespoon of fresh syrup in their hollow centers without apology. We have been pouring our own syrup over them for thirty years. There is no better use for a first run.
Pop-Up Muffins (German Pancakes)
Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes | Servings: 12 muffins
Ingredients
- 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
- 3 large eggs
- 1/2 cup whole milk
- 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
- 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
- Powdered sugar, for serving
- Pure maple syrup, for serving
Instructions
- Preheat the oven. Place the oven rack in the center position and preheat to 425°F. Place a standard 12-cup muffin tin in the oven while it heats.
- Make the batter. In a blender, combine the eggs, milk, flour, sugar, salt, and vanilla. Blend on medium-high for 30 seconds until completely smooth and slightly frothy. Let the batter rest while the oven finishes preheating.
- Butter the tin. Cut the butter into 12 small pieces. Remove the hot muffin tin from the oven and quickly place one piece of butter into each cup. Return to the oven for 1–2 minutes until the butter is melted and just beginning to bubble.
- Fill and bake. Working quickly, pour the batter evenly into the buttered cups, filling each about halfway. Bake for 15–18 minutes until the muffins are dramatically puffed and deep golden brown at the edges. Do not open the oven door during baking.
- Serve immediately. Remove from the oven and transfer to plates right away — they will begin to deflate within a minute or two, which is expected. Dust with powdered sugar and serve with warm maple syrup poured into the hollow centers.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 75 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 4g | Carbs: 7g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 65mg