Grandma’s Pancakes

When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to see my grandmother. I’d stay overnight and she’d make me special pancakes in the morning. I could almost smell them as I brushed my teeth, imagining a sweet aroma filling the kitchen. My mouth would water, knowing what was ahead.

The weren’t out-of-the-box Aunt Jemima, General Mills or even Bisquick kind of thick doughy pancakes. Hers were paper thin, made from scratch, spread with grape jelly inside and rolled up. A bit of powdered sugar topped them off.

Sometimes she made them with a cinnamon and sugar filling if she didn’t have grape jelly.

And, on special splurge-y occasions, my grandmother rolled them up with fresh cottage cheese. Then, the cinnamon sugar was added as a topping. We’d pick them up and eat them cold, or if they were hot, from a plate.

I’d watch as she poured the thin batter, then flipped them when their edges started to curl and bubble up. Once she finished, and a plate was piled high with freshly made pancakes, It was my job to add either the jelly or a spoonful of cottage cheese.

Years later, I managed to replicate her thin pancakes and served them to my kids.

To improve on Grandma’s recipe, I added something special that took them to another level of goodness.

My secret ingredient, warmed Vermont maple syrup.

Yum!

Talk about a fabulous anytime, especially for breakfast, kind of treat.

French Crepes.
Hungarian Palacsinta.
Serbian Palachinke.

Other nationalities and cultures used variations, but the thin pancakes would never be mistaken for what they were. Very thin, paper-like and delicious in any language.

Because of the different pronunciations of a common form of pancake in Europe, I also realized how alike and yet different we all were.

Our differences stem from the memories we create; those that make us who we are. Imagine how boring life would be without our unique differences. Without our individual and unique memories.

Sharing those special moments from the past with our children and grandkids has always been something they could remember about us.

And, for those reasons and more, we need to keep our memories intact. As a legacy to our loved ones. Not to be forgotten. To remain visible. With a voice.

Thanks to Grandma’s pancakes and the memories I had and still have, I knew I had to do something more.

As a memoir writing coach who helped people write their legacy stories, I wanted to create a new writing workshop based on keeping our memories alive. And, I’ve always taken that very seriously.

Without our memories,
we are a name without a past.
A legacy left untold and someone without a voice or visibility for the future. The family no longer has a foundation or a point of remembrance. Except for a few moments, forgotten.

The memories we hold — both good and bad — affect us as adults and carry us and our future progeny forward in all of our actions. They are the legacy moments we need to share with others. Especially with our loved ones.

My grandmother gave me a sense of belonging, of being loved. She fed me and created dishes that were part of her past, her family in Hungary. She brought those memories over into the new world she would know and love.

She taught me how to make them, using just the right amount of batter to keep them thin, with gentle and slow movements so as not to rip them.

When I see a thin pancake, by any name, I think of my grandmother’s love and her willingness to share her history with me and my sisters.

By knowing our family history and the legacy we’ve been given, we’re better equipped to understand our motives and actions as we create the future for others. We can help them understand who they are by knowing who we were.

With that in mind, plus more reasons I haven’t even touched on yet, I’ll be hosting a writing workshop on memoir and our memories as legacy in the next few weeks.

Stay tuned for more information.

You can reach me at https://www.memoirmuse.com