How to Cut a Pancake

The first time I went to a good breakfast place, I was young and finicky in my tastes. Plastered all over that laminated menu were options worthy of a king's gastric acid: fluffy three egg omelettes, cheese blintzes, fruit-filled crepes, and pancakes--oh, were there pancakes. Buttermilk pancakes, multi-grain oat cakes, chocolate chip pancakes, blueberry pancakes, Swedish pancakes, something called "The Mother Load," and something else, called the Big Apple, which was less pancake than an apple-cinnamony pastry fit for a giant's hands. But I didn't know that yet. All I knew was that I didn't know what it was, which meant it scared me. All of them did. So I asked the only suitable question one can ask when approached by a stranger in a mauve apron carrying a notepad, ready to jot down your every desire. Maybe the pressure of such unfamiliar opportunity made me crack. Because then I said: "What kind of cereal do you have?"

My friend and his dad who took us both laughed. When I waited earnestly to hear the list of boxed dry cereals they had on offer, they realized mine was not a joke, but an honest request. My friend kept laughing. His dad pointed to the menu in front of me, as if to say, "No, they have real food here, look." But I didn't know what I wanted. No--I did know. I wanted Frosted Flakes. My friend's dad saved me from myself.

"He'll have the silver dollar pancakes." And they were good. Not grrrrreat!, but good. I still had a long way to go.

I remember this now and, like my generous hosts then, laugh, but more than that marvel at how far I've come (or how little I inched out of my comfort zone so long ago). I almost pity my former, cereal-requesting self. This isn't even what I wanted to share with you (and when I say you, this isn't some plural usage of the word, to stand in for the nonexistent English variant of the word 'you' that involves multiple people.... no, I am speaking to you, that one person who might be reading this, which, more likely than not, is in fact me.) (Speaking of which: Boy do you have nice hair.) But the story seemed like appropriate introduction to this, my first in a series of posts explaining How To...

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How To Cut a Pancake (large version*)

Difficulty level: 3
Required skill-set: Low
Ratio of effort to results: 1/5

First, (1) slice into vertical strips, making sure to leave one half fully intact. Make cuts the width of your choice. (see Fig.1 below)
Personally, I like a pretty thin strip. The more cross-section space available, the more potential syrup-saturation you will have. Pancakes are like forests: The border areas are their most vital, active regions. Much like the deer that congregate along the perifery of woodlands, so, too, does the syrup soak into and rest along the edges of the cut 'cake. If you are a syrup junky like myself, I suggest you use this to your advantage.

Pour syrup over slices as you wish and eat.

Then, (2) slice your remaining half into horizontal strips. Why the change in direction? Since now the middle of the whole pancake is a new edge, if you cut perpendicularly from this new, longest side, you will allow yourself more total strips. Each will be shorter, but the resultant gaps between each section of pancake provides more syrup pooling to occur, good for both second-chance dipping and the aforementioned border-soak. Also: By leaving one half intact while eating the first half, your remaining 'cake retains more of its own heat than if sliced all at once. As good as these borders are for capturing flavor, they also allow the natural heat from cooking to escape, thus making for a colder, less satisfying second half experience.

If you have leftover syrup not absorbed into the pancake (3), you can either use the sugary puddles as a nice, prelaid foundation for your second serving, or next time be sure to adjust your pour.

Overall, this technique requires a modicum of patience, and an open mind, but fulfills the potential of a pancake through the use of simple, conscientious decision-making. May your 'cakes stay warm and syrupy.

*If you prefer Silver Dollar, or smaller, pancakes, I can not help you here. My cutting technique is reserved for the large, almost-plate sized versions which I prefer, and which you'll find at most diners or reputable breakfast joints. Quick hint: If you can place your closed fist over the pancake and not see the 'cake anymore, yours are of the small variety. Now, use that fist and punch yourself in the thigh, not hard enough to do any irreversible damage but enough to form a small bruise, so you'll remember your mistake and, hopefully, not repeat it.