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Oh, help those who try to turn the pancake into a work of art. A golden circle? A sacred halo? A blazing sun? No metaphor is needed to convey its simplicity: flour, an egg, a little sugar, the gentle, sour sigh of sourdough. The pancake is the antithesis of the Cronut, a contradiction in earthy extravagance: a flat meditation on the beauty of the simple and unremarkable, stacked neatly. And like many simple foods, despite its basic modesty, the pancake has long had a place in the spotlight: an impressive stack can put a restaurant on the map, secure its reputation, and prolong its life. These days, lines snake around the block for a sumptuous stack at the Golden Diner; before that, the iconic pancake was a sleek, almost pancake-like version at Chez Ma Tante, in Greenpoint, its edge curls crunching in oceans of melted butter. The city has a pancake for every culinary era: the Clinton St. Baking Company, with its gritty Lower East Side vibe, pioneered the genre in the early 2000s; Bubby's, a retro Tribeca eatery, became the true leader of the pancake scene at the turn of the millennium. Recently, three relatively new takes on the pancake caught my eye—modern brunch classics worth trying.
Family Heirloom – Masa Pancakes in Hellbender
There are delicate, golden pancakes, and then there are the pancakes that chef Yara Herrera serves up at her surprisingly inviting restaurant on a sunny corner of Ridgewood: thick, airy, light as a whisper—and yellow as marigolds, thanks to a base of fresh masa, a batter made from ground nixtamalized corn that adds a nutty, sunny edge to the traditional pancake’s flavor profile. The result is vaguely arepa-like in its texture and cornbread-like in its sweetness. Like the version made famous at the Golden Diner (which Herrera cites as an inspiration), these are true, literal pancakes: cooked not in a griddle but in individual cast-iron skillets that shape the pancake, define its borders, and create a unique, crispy exterior that contrasts beautifully with the soft, almost melting, creamy interior. A two-pan serving is served under a huge layer of butter so generous that at first I thought it was a thick slice of cheese.
Sourse: newyorker.com
