Pankoka? Pannkaka? Dutch Baby (but from Sweden)?

April 27, 2020

In these strange times, I find myself thinking about absence. While I’m a contented introvert most of the time, COVID-19 has me thinking about all the people with whom I usually interact in the spring and summer months—peak periods of work-related travel for me. Like many academics, the people I love are spread all around the world. My work at the University of Glasgow keeps me in Scotland during the teaching semesters, but as soon as teaching ends I’m usually travelling back and forth to Rwanda for fieldwork, attending international conferences to connect with some of my favourite scholars, and, when time and funds permit, sneaking home for a visit with family back in Canada. I will miss these visits and the people who take time out of their busy schedules this year to connect with me, usually over food. And so, I dedicate this pankoka recipe to them. It’s a favourite of mine: simple to make, adaptable to the contents of most kitchens at any time of the year, and so delicious. I hope you all stay healthy and safe, and I can’t wait to see you again in the not-too-distant future!

In 1960, my intrepid father – having spent most of his life on a farm near Grand Forks, BC – decided it was time to gain some international experience. He was determined to get an undergraduate degree, and would be the first in his family to ever do so. But to pay for his education, which his family could not afford, he spent his summers working on fishing boats on the Pacific. It was challenging and often dangerous work, but there he met his life-long friend, Ivor Ostrom.

As he completed the first year of his studies in the Fine Arts at the University of British Columbia, my father wanted to take a year off to decide his major. He and Ivor decided to travel around Europe together and so they drove across Canada to Montréal and then to New York, living in Ivor’s truck along the way. When they arrived in New York, they purchased tickets in steerage aboard the Cunard Line’s Queen Mary, and departed on 14 September for England.

As a child growing up in the Okanagan Valley, I remember hearing occasional stories about my father’s adventures hitch-hiking around Europe: approximately two years before he met my mother and three years before they married. There were plenty of humorous stories about Ivor, the lovely European women they attempted (and failed!) to woo, and the kind people who gave them work on their farms until they could afford to move on to their next destination: Glasgow; Amsterdam; Barcelona; and so on. However, one person he met during his travels became beloved by our family from afar. Ivor’s aunt, Olga Karlsson, hosted Ivor and my father for a few months on her family’s farm in Sweden, where my father fell in love with her cooking. When their time in Sweden ended, she gifted him a family recipe for what she called pankoka, which had become a favourite of his during their time together.

Little did Olga know that in sharing her recipe for pankoka with my father, it would become a staple in our family. When my father married my mother, he taught her to make it, and as their family grew it became a special weekend treat – a welcome change from the oatmeal that graced our family table most other days of the week. My earliest memories are of the family sitting around the table on lazy Sunday mornings, waiting for my mother to place the pankoka on the table before us, all puffy and golden, and dusted with icing sugar. My father was partial to lingonberry jam on the side as this was how Olga used to serve it, and so my mother usually kept some store-bought lingonberry jam on hand specially for him. My sister and brother and I were less picky though, and growing up in a community that was renowned for its orchards, we always had a range of homemade jams or fresh fruit to choose from as an accompaniment. I’ve never encountered a bad combination, but rhubarb or apricot jam, or fresh sour cherries are probably my personal favourites.

When I moved away from home, Olga’s pankoka recipe was the first recipe I asked my mother to share. As a university student, I looked for excuses to make it for roommates and friends on the weekends, eager to continue my family tradition and build a new community for myself. Over the years, I’ve taken the recipe with me everywhere I’ve lived: from the Okanagan, to Rwanda and Bosnia, and beyond. Even today, it remains a regular weekend feature of my life in Scotland where I now live with my partner who, like me, looks forward to quiet weekend mornings when we can share pankoka.

Pre-heat your oven to 425/200 degrees. Butter two pie plates or similar baking dish thoroughly and then place in the oven to pre-heat.**

Combine the following ingredients in a mixing bowl:

3 cups milk (we like semi-skim best)
4 eggs
1tsp salt
4 tbsp sugar (feel free to cut this back a little if you prefer a more savoury breakfast)
1 cup flour

Mix with a whisk until you have a smooth, runny batter. Pour the batter into the pre-heated baking dishes and place in the oven for 20-25 minutes. The pankoka will be finished when it has puffed up around the edges and taken on a golden-brown colour on top. When you cut into it, it will deflate, leaving a firm base with a creamy top layer.

Pankoka is best when served straight from the oven with a light dusting of icing sugar (though the extra sugar is, of course, optional).***

*In most Nordic recipe books, pankoka is a thin, crepe-like pancake, which is not at all what this recipe makes. This recipe results in something like a Dutch baby, which has graced the menus of many Dutch Pancake restaurants across North America over the years.

**This recipe easily serves four or five people. It can also easily be halved to make a single pankoka that serves two or three people.

***My mother insists that I mention that for people who like their breakfasts sweet and a little bit fancy that you can place sliced apples and cinnamon in the baking dish and then pour the batter over it. You probably couldn’t go wrong serving pankoka with bacon and maple syrup either.