Pancakes Quotes

“I like pancakes.”
― Brandon Mull

“Someone who eats pancakes and jam can’t be so awfully dangerous. You can talk to him.”
― Tove Jansson, Finn Family Moomintroll

“Dr. Jules Hilbert: Hell Harold, you could just eat nothing but pancakes if you wanted.

Harold Crick: What is wrong with you? Hey, I don't want to eat nothing but pancakes, I want to live! I mean, who in their right mind in a choice between pancakes and living chooses pancakes?

Dr. Jules Hilbert: Harold, if you pause to think, you'd realize that that answer is inextricably contingent upon the type of life being led... and, of course, the quality of the pancakes. ”
― Zach Helm, Stranger Than Fiction: The Shooting Script

“Maybe love was a woman feeding him pancakes. Maybe it was someone sitting across from him sipping orange juice just to please him.”
― Christine Feehan, Water Bound

“The sergeants are shunted forward and they blink and stare up at Gonzo as he leans on the edge of his giant mixing bowl. MacArthur never addressed his troops from a mixing bowl--not even one made from a spare geodesic radio emplacement shell--and certainly de Gaulle never did. But Gonzo Lubitsch does, and he does it as if a whole long line of commanders were standing at his shoulder, urging him on.

"Gentlemen," says Gonzo softly, "holidays are over. I need an oven, and I need one in about twenty minutes, or these fine flapjacks will go to waste, and that is not happening."

And something about this statement and the voice in which he says it makes it clear that this is simply true. One way or another, this thing will get done. Under a layer of grime and horror, these two are soldiers, and more, they are productive, can-do sorts of people. Rustily but with a gratitude which is not so far short of worship, they say "Yes, sir" and are about their business.”
― Nick Harkaway, The Gone-Away World

“Everyone knows that pancakes are the international breakfast food of love.”
― Kate Bromley, Talk Bookish to Me

“White ducks have big orange spatulas for feet. But will they kick over pancakes before they burn? No! They like their flapjacks flavored like The Great Chicago Fire of 1871.”
― Jarod Kintz, BearPaw Duck And Meme Farm presents: Two Ducks Brawling Is A Pre-Pillow Fight

“Wasanbon sugar, honey and tofu. Together, they make a silky-smooth pastry crust that gently caresses the lips... while the fluffy, sticky white bean paste melts on the tongue. Its mellow and robust flavor wafting up to tickle the nose! And with every bite, the crisp tartness of apples pop like fireworks, glittering brightly and fading, only to sparkle once again.
Its sweet deliciousness ripples from the mouth straight up to the brain...
a super-heavyweight punch of moist, rich goodness!"
"Yeeah!"
"Ladies and gentlemen, all the judges have looks on their faces! What on earth could have created a flavor that rapturous?!"
"The biggest secret to that flavor is right here, brushed on the underside of the pastry crust...
apple butter!"
"Apple butter?!"
"Hmm..."
It's as simple as its name- grated apple, lemon juice and sugar added into melted butter. The distinctive tang of fruit is melded together harmoniously with mellow butter, creating a spread that can add acidity, saltiness and rich body to a dish!
"Yet making something like this is no mean feat!
Two completely disparate ingredients must be not just mixed but perfectly emulsified together! It's a task akin to perfectly melding oil with water!
Even pro chefs have difficulty bringing out the butter's smooth shine without accidentally letting it separate! Managing it all requires mastery of a very specific cooking technique!"
"Yes, sir!
I did use Monter au Beurre.
It's a technique for finishing sauces...
... common in French cooking!”
― Yuto Tsukuda, 食戟のソーマ 28 [Shokugeki no Souma 28]

“Ah, now I see. It was in the center of the dorayaki! Right there underneath the insignia...
she added apple confiture to the filling!"
Confiture!
What the heck is that?!
"Confiture is the French word for jams and marmalades. It seems she's made her own special apple jam blended with a hint of ginger!
The tart juiciness and fruity richness of the jam melds seamlessly with the ginger's flavor. When tasted together with the apple chunks and dorayaki crust, it jumps out at you in a brilliant flash of deliciousness!”
― Yuto Tsukuda, 食戟のソーマ 28 [Shokugeki no Souma 28]

“There are two kinds of crisp potatoes that I prefer above all others. The first are called Swiss potatoes, and they're essentially a large potato pancake of perfect hash browns; the flipping of the pancake is so wildly dramatic that the potatoes themselves are almost beside the point. The second are called potatoes Anna; they are thin circles of potato cooked in a shallow pan in the oven and then turned onto a plate in a darling mound of crunchy brownness. Potatoes Anna is a classic French recipe, but there is something so homely and old-fashioned about them that they can usually be passed off as either an ancient family recipe or something you just made up.”
― Nora Ephron, Heartburn

“It's crazy that her tester pancake turned out to be perfect," I finally said.
"Her what?" Cat chuckled.
"You know, the tester pancake," I explained, hoping that the preceding glasses of wine wouldn't make this analogy impossible to follow. "Like, when you're making pancakes, you don't just start off by dumping all the pancake batter onto the griddle and assuming everything will be okay. You have to start with one and then test it out to see--- is the griddle hot enough? Is the batter not too thick or not too loose? Does the butter melt at the right sizzle? Does the batter have the right ratio of blueberries---"
"You mean chocolate chips---" she interjected.
"I mean blueberries for my fictional theoretical pancakes, thank you very much. Anyway," I said, clearing my throat, "you need the tester pancake to help you adjust. Not to mention you might spend years refining your pancake recipe to get to the one you want."
"But sometimes the tester just works," Cat argued wholeheartedly.
Such a hidden sap. It made no sense, since she---like me--- had essentially been single since college. But I knew she was a softie beneath her badass consulting and math-brain exterior.
"Besides," she said, "they always say when you know, you know.”
― Ali Rosen, Recipe for Second Chances

“At the end of The Story of Little Babaji they make pancakes out of the tigers that have transformed into butter, and eat them. I think they mix the tiger-butter into the batter. Or put it on top. Maybe they even melt it in the frying pan.'
But Rika's words got lost amid the sound of the pancake mix being poured into the pan. She heard the noise of the pancake being flipped and sticking again to the pan. After a while, Makoto came over with a plate in his hand. The perfectly round, golden brown pancake was steaming, the maple syrup shining, and the knob of butter on top beginning to melt. She brought her hands together, and said, 'Itadakimasu.'
With a fork, Rika broke off a small piece of the pancake, revealing its bright yellow insides. The way that the batter with its structure of fine air bubbles and countless little pillars supported the surface layer, burnished to a deep brown, was proof that it had been well mixed. The butter slid around sluggishly. Rika put a tiny sliver into her mouth. She instructed her teeth to bite, and with some effort, succeeded in moving her mouth, chewing the soft, warm pancake into which the salted butter and syrup had been absorbed.”
― Asako Yuzuki, Butter

“Her dish's secret ingredient is an impromptu Greek yogurt. It's a unique type of yogurt that's thickened and concentrated via a straining process."
Strained yogurt?
Straining yogurt with a cheesecloth, or even paper towels, removes some of its moisture, condensing the yogurt while giving its flavor a gentle body, reminiscent of cheese. Miss Nakiri mixed some strained yogurt into the meringue she used for her batter. That gave her pancakes a deeper, more complex flavor that, in turn, made the simple sweetness of her brown sugar bean paste stand out even more!”
― Yuto Tsukuda, 食戟のソーマ 29 [Shokugeki no Souma 29]

“Well, I did have 2 pancakes with chocolate spread and stuff but I got hungry.”
― Sana Sahul Hameed, Carter’s Kids & the Lovesick Murderer

“He began to eat, only half-distracted by Agnes's food this time- the ham crisp and sweet, the cakes thick and light, studded with pecans, the syrup falling in ropes to mix with the melting butter”
― Jennifer Crusie, Agnes and the Hitman

“Shane cut into the pancake and forked up a bite: light, tender, nutty, sweet, and buttery, just like Agnes. Home cooking.”
― Jennifer Crusie, Agnes and the Hitman

“But we're going to make the lightest, fluffiest pancakes, and if we don't have any fruit syrup today, then we'll just use good old maple syrup."
"Go for Grade A dark amber," said Oliver. "It's rich and velvety."
"And very good for dipping apples in," Troy said, pointing to his FarmFresh shirt.
Gus handed Carmen some eggs. "Separate those out," she told her, "because when I make pancakes, I always fluff the whites separately. Then I fold them in when the batter is mixed..."
"And that's how you keep them high and light," said Carmen.”
― Kate Jacobs, Comfort Food

“These are good." Rico popped an extra piece in his mouth.
"As good as the ones they sold at your fiera livre?" As soon as she said it, they both froze. This was all on camera. At least she wasn't holding a knife.
"No." Rico smiled at the camera. "Better."
The skip of joy in her heart brought with it a shadow of fear, but she ignored it and grabbed square black platters and started to plate the bright white pancakes in delicate quarter folds to form a clover. She handed spoons to Rico and he poured doce de leite into them and placed them next to the pancakes.
They were done a good two minutes before the rest of contestants, but they would still have to act like they were rushing at the end because it made for better television.
"It looks a little plain," Rico said, taking in everyone else's workstations, where everything from empanadas to elephant ears and patajones (Danny, naturally) were being tossed up. "Should I cut up some strawberries? It could use some fruit, and maybe whipped cream?"
He was right. It needed something. Plain would definitely get them hammered by the judges. But not strawberries and whipped cream. Not anything so predictable.
Ashna raced to the pantry, picked up a mango, and tossed it at Rico. Then without waiting to see if he would catch it, she turned to grab some saffron and ran back to their station.
"Can you dice the mango?" Before the question was even out of her mouth, he was slicing.
DJ called out the one-minute warning.
Ashna pinched out a fat clump of saffron into a metal spoon, mixed in a few drops of milk, and held it over the fire. The saffron dissolved into the milk, turning it orange, and despite the smells from all the workstations, the aroma of saffron permeated the air.
DJ started to count down the last ten seconds.
Ashna drizzled the saffron milk onto the four spoons of doce de leite just as Rico arranged the mango at the center of each plate.”
― Sonali Dev, Recipe for Persuasion

“When I was growing up, the taste of pancakes meant the kind that my great-uncle made for me from Bisquick. If condensed cream of mushroom soup was the Great Assimilator, then this "instant" baking mix was the American Dream. With it, we could do anything. Biscuits, waffles, coffee cakes, muffins, dumplings, and the list continues to grow even now in a brightly lit test kitchen full of optimism. My great-uncle used Bisquick for only one purpose, which was to make pancakes, but he liked knowing that the possibilities, the sweet and the savory, were all in that cheery yellow box. Baby Harper wasn't a fat man, but he ate like a fat man. His idea of an afternoon snack was a stack of pancakes, piled three high. After dancing together, Baby Harper and I would go into his kitchen, where he would make the dream happen. He ate his pancakes with butter and Log Cabin syrup, and I ate my one pancake plain, each bite a fluffy amalgam of dried milk and vanillin. A chemical stand-in for vanilla extract, vanillin was the cheap perfume of all the instant, industrialized baked goods of my childhood. I recognized its signature note in all the cookies that DeAnne brought home from the supermarket: Nilla Wafers, Chips Ahoy!, Lorna Doones. I loved them all. They belonged, it seemed to me, to the same family, baked by the same faceless mother or grandmother in the back of our local Piggly Wiggly supermarket.
The first time that I tasted pancakes made from scratch was in 1990, when Leo, a.k.a. the parsnip, made them for me. We had just begun dating, and homemade pancakes was the ace up his sleeve. He shook buttermilk. He melted butter. He grated lemon zest. There was even a spoonful of pure vanilla extract. I couldn't bring myself to call what he made for us "pancakes." There were no similarities between those delicate disks and what my great-uncle and I had shared so often in the middle of the afternoon.”
― Monique Truong, Bitter in the Mouth

“Well, it's definitely banana. What banana dishes do you have?"
"Do the bananas smell ripe?" Hadley interjected, grabbing Max's attention.
Her turned in his chair. "Yes, but not overly so."
"So not mashed up and cooked in?"
He thought for a moment. "No, I don't think so."
She nodded. "Pecans or walnuts?"
Max closed his eyes and brought the earthy smell of the dish to the forefront of his mind. "Pecans. And... coconut, maybe?"
"Oh!" Holly exclaimed with excitement. "That's the Caribbean pancakes!”
― Bethany Turner, Hadley Beckett's Next Dish

“I obviously love Jack the Horse Tavern in Brooklyn Heights. The smoked trout salad is what lures me back again and again; it's indicative of the offbeat menu that also includes baked eggs, buckwheat pancakes, and a shrimp club sandwich.
Everything at the Farm on Adderly is fresh and tasty. This Ditmas Park pioneer keeps it simple and refined: a smoked pollock cake with harissa mayonnaise, french toast with apple compote, and a kale salad with dried cherries and hazelnuts. Yes, please!
Tucked away in the north of ever-popular DUMBO, Vinegar Hill House feels like you've actually trekked to Vermont. In the rustic ambiance, you can indulge in fancy cocktails along with the oversized sourdough pancake, tarragon-accented omelet, or eggs Benedict topped with pickled onion.
Buttermilk Channel is the ultimate indulgence- pecan pie french toast, Provençal bean stew, a house-cured lox platter. Because of the over-the-top menu and portions, this Carroll Gardens bistro hops all day, every Sunday.”
― Amy Thomas, Brooklyn in Love: A Delicious Memoir of Food, Family, and Finding Yourself

“For me, she got out Tupperware containers and refried some jeon. I watched over her shoulder as the grease bubbled under the egg-battered pancakes. Oysters, small fish fillets, sausage patties, all battered in flour and egg, fried and dipped in soy sauce. She served them alongside a steaming pot of kimchi jjigae. She opened a plastic single of seaweed and set it near my bowl of rice just like my mother used to.”
― Michelle Zauner, Crying in H Mart

“I made American pancakes this morning. Would you like some? I am about to serve the first batch to my guests."
"I can make some for us," I said, taking in the batter, the greased griddle, and the bowl of apricots. "You can go and fuss over the guests."
"Ah, bien," she answered, loading a platter full of beautiful apricot-studded pancakes to take away. "Bon, I pour the batter and place the slices over the top just so. They're very moist because of the crème fraîche, and then I serve them with a crème anglaise."
"It looks great," I said, taking the ladle in hand and stirring the batter, just to get a feel for the consistency. "Don't worry about us."
Sandrine grinned her thanks, and I turned my attention to breakfast.
"I can do that, if you want to sit," Neil offered.
I waved him away. "I can make pancakes in my sleep."
"I liked that she called them 'American pancakes'."
"Well, they are. French pancakes are crepes, and German pancakes are a whole other deal altogether." I ladled four puddles of batter onto the griddle, enjoying the sizzling sound they made as batter met butter. "English pancakes are closer to crepes, just thicker."
"Reminds me of when I was in Toronto for a conference. I tried to order a Canadian bacon and pineapple pizza but got tongue-tied."
I laughed and began to arrange the apricots. "What did you do?"
"I said 'Hawaiian' instead. The guy seemed to know what I was talking about."
"Quick thinking."
"Thank you."
"In truth, between the crème fraîche and the crème anglaise topping, I think these pancakes are a bit more trans-Atlantic than American."
"I'll take your word for it.”
― Hillary Manton Lodge, Reservations for Two

“I think it over, licking a smudge of Nutella from my thumb---the last bit of my newest obsession. After lunch yesterday, the chef served dorayaki---Nutella between two castella pancakes. Boom. Mind blown. I ate it and ascended to a higher plane. Since then, the chef has kept me in steady supply, and I love him so much for it.”
― Emiko Jean, Tokyo Ever After

“What is a pancake? Cooked batter, covered in sugar and butter. It is food. But it is not as food, not as sustenance that we crave the pancake. No, the pancake, or flapjack if you will, is a childish pleasure; smothered in syrup, buried beneath ice cream, the pancake symbolises our escape from respectability, eating as a form of infantile play. The environments where pancakes are served and consumed are, in this context, special playrooms for a public ravenous for sweetness, that delirious sweetness of long-ago breakfasts made by mother, sweetness of our infancy and our great, lost, toddler’s omnipotence. Look around. Notice, if you will, these lighting fixtures suspended from the ceiling like pretty mobiles over a crib. Notice the indestructible plastic orange seating materials designed to repel spills and stains. Notice these menus that unfold like colorful, laminated boards in those games we once played on rainy days at home, those unforgettable indoor days when we felt safe and warm, when we knew ourselves, absolutely, to be loved. We come to the Pancake House because we are hungry. We call out in our hearts to our mothers, and it is the Pancake House that answers. The Pancake House holds us! The Pancake House restores us to beloved infancy! The Pancake House is our mother in this motherless world!”
― Donald Antrim, The Verificationist

“For one, the lomo saltado was so delicious I thought I might forget my own name. It was beef tenderloin stir-fried so that the sugars in the marinade caramelized on the outside, making it crispy and chewy and as tender as the name in the middle, on a big blue platter piled high with roasted tomatoes, various salsas and chiles, and crispy fries. The idea was to wrap pieces of beef and the toppings in the scallion pancakes that came along with it. What resulted were flavor bombs, savory and spicy and fatty and crispy, all accentuated by the sweet, tangy pop of tomato. Flakes of scallion pancakes drifted from my lips down to my plate as my teeth crunched through each bite.
"I can't even handle how good this is," I said, then swallowed because I couldn't wait to say it.
The other two dishes we'd ordered were pretty great, too----a whole branzino marinated and charred so that we picked it clean off its spindly bones and ate it with greens and roasted peppers; a half chicken roasted with aji amarillo chile paste and served over shiitake mushrooms and a lime crema---but the lomo saltado was the true star of the table. I could already picture how it was going to look on my page. The golden-brown fries glistening with oil. The beef shaded from light pink in the center to deep brown on the edges. The ruby red tomatoes nestled among them. And the scallion pancakes serving as a lacy backdrop.”
― Amanda Elliot, Best Served Hot

“Mmm, I hope we get there in time for breakfast," I mumbled.
"I'll get you whatever you want," Ryker said. "Do you want to stop for food?"
"No," I said. "I want Dad's pancakes."
"Whatever you want, Dani." Ryker kissed the top of my head.
"I want pancakes, answers, and rum," I grumbled. "A new phone, and some clothes that don't smell like sex and show off my ass cheeks."
"I like your ass cheeks," Ryker chuckled.
"Not helping," I managed before letting out another big yawn.”
― Sabrina Blackburry, Dirty Lying Dragons

“What are those?" Ryker asked.
On the table were three large shot glasses, filled with vodka and topped with a spurt of whipped cream and sprinkles.
"Pancakes." I took one of the glasses, ready to knock it back.
"Dani, those are not pancakes," Ryker said, leaning forward to smell them. "That is vodka."
"Potato pancakes," I said, and I knocked mine back. "Don't judge a family tradition, it's a long story and you can't tell me I don't need a shot or three after what I went through."
He didn't looked impressed. "You drink as much as Gavin.”
― Sabrina Blackburry, Dirty Lying Dragons

“The pancakes and French toast were topped with locally sourced Honey-Honey honey, made grumpy to order with powdered sugar and cinnamon, with a perfectly star-cut strawberry on top.”
― Ashley Poston, A Novel Love Story

“Pru and I had tried to make the Honey Surprise a hundred times at home, until we'd perfected the art of French toast and the perfect golden-crisp pancake, but nothing prepared me for the fluffiness, the buttery sweetness, the crispy crunch of my first bite.
It was so good, I moaned.
Anders choked on a fry, and chased it with the rest of his tea. By the wrinkle of disgust on his face, the combination tasted terrible. "Can you not?" he whispered to me, coughing.
"Have you tasted this? It's delicious. You should have what I'm having."
"I don't eat sweet things."
"You're missing out. What do they put in this stuff? It's so good."
"Butter, flour, and love, or so the sign says," he replied, motioning to the slogan painted on the back wall of the restaurant.”
― Ashley Poston, A Novel Love Story