It was snowing sideways when I remembered the recipe. Not the first snow. That had come and gone, flashy and early. This one stuck. Made everything look muffled. The griddle was still oily from last weekend’s grilled cheese massacre, and I hadn’t meant to cook. I was just standing there in the kitchen, waiting for something else to happen. Then I saw it—Martha Stewart’s Old Fashioned Pancakes, scribbled on the back of a water bill I meant to pay two weeks ago.
My hands moved before I did.
What the Original Looked Like
Her Highness’s version is clean. Structured. Predictable in that way only a woman like Martha can manage without apology. Flour, sugar, baking powder—measured and sifted, of course. Egg and milk whisked just enough to pull together. She melts the butter with grace. Lets the batter sit, like it’s meditating. Then pours precise quarter-cups onto a hot, butter-slicked skillet until they bubble politely. It’s a calm recipe. It asks for nothing wild. Butter on top, warm syrup in a pourer that doesn’t drip.
God, she makes everything sound easy.
What I Did Differently
I didn’t sift anything. That felt like too much ceremony for a Wednesday morning with a broken radiator. And I used oat milk because I had it, and it hadn’t turned yet. I added vanilla—just a splash. That wasn’t in her recipe, but I needed it. Needed what it did to the air. Needed what it reminded me of.
(I don’t even like pancakes that much. But I like what they make the house smell like.)
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
I mixed the dry with a fork. Couldn’t find the whisk. Mae took it to her dorm last time she was home and “forgot” to return it. (She also stole my best flannel, but I let that go.) The batter came together lumpier than I meant. I let it sit. Not because Martha told me to. Because the dog needed to go out and I couldn’t stop staring at the snow piling on the old zinnias.
The skillet was too hot. First pancake went black in 45 seconds. I flipped it anyway. Ate it over the sink like burnt toast on a bad day.
The rest got gentler. Lower heat. Less panic. More watching. The kind of watching that isn’t really about the pancakes, but about what happens when you stop scrolling. When you just… listen.
They puffed up like they remembered how. Soft middles. Gold-edged. Smelled like Saturday mornings when my dad used to slam cupboards looking for his garlic press. (He never found it. I keep it now. Don’t use it either.)
The last pancake I made too big on purpose. Poured all the leftover batter in, watched it spread and sigh and settle. That one was mine.
A Few Things I Learned
Don’t skip the vanilla. Even if she says nothing about it.
The first one always burns if you’re distracted by snow.
Also—warm syrup doesn’t fix everything. But it helps.
What I Did With the Extras
I left them on the counter under a towel. Mae texted mid-afternoon asking for “something carby.” I said, “pancakes, if they’re still there.” She said, “I love you.”
I think she meant it.
Would I Make It Again?
Yeah. But only when it snows the sad kind of snow.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The kitchen was warmer by the time the pan cooled down. Not from the heat. From the battered quiet.
If soft food’s your thing, I did a cheesy potato mess last week you might like. Messier. But warmer.
FAQs
Kind of. It gets a little too relaxed overnight—less puff, more slump. But if you’re tired? Do it. Just give it a stir in the morning like it owes you money.
No. That was just me being stubborn and out of groceries. Regular milk works. Almond milk’s fine. Water if you’re desperate. I’ve done worse.
Then it’s just pancakes. Still good. Just… quieter. Like a hug without the squeeze.
Because the skillet’s a drama queen and wants attention. Lower the heat. And don’t walk away to yell at the mailman like I did.
Yeah, but I never do. They go rubbery and sad. Just eat ‘em cold with your fingers like a raccoon with good taste.
Try More Breakfast Recipes:
- Martha Stewart Morning Glory Muffins
- Martha Stewart Granola Recipe
- Martha Stewart Breakfast Cookies
- I Tried Martha Stewart Carrot Raisin Muffins
Martha Stewart Old Fashioned Pancakes
Description
Soft-edged, vanilla-laced, and eaten in silence. Made them for warmth, not breakfast.
Ingredients
Instructions
- First, make the mix: Grab a big bowl. Dump in 1 ½ cups of flour, 1 tbsp of sugar (i used brown by accident—kept it), 1 tsp of salt, and 2 ¾ tsp of baking powder. Stir it lazy with a fork.
- Now the wet stuff: In a glass measuring cup or whatever’s clean, whisk 1 egg, 1 ¼ cups oat milk (or real milk), 2 tbsp of melted butter, and 1 tsp vanilla. Don’t skip the vanilla. trust me.
- Pour the wet into the dry: Make a well if you want to pretend it matters. Pour it in. Stir just until it looks like batter, not glue. A few lumps are part of the charm. Let it sit. 10 minutes if you can. enough time to put on socks or cry. your call.
- Heat the pan: Butter or oil in a skillet—cast iron if you’re loyal. Medium heat, not too hot. Test with water flicks. When it dances, it’s ready.
- Make the pancakes: Scoop ¼ cup batter per pancake. Let them bubble—really bubble—before you flip. The first one will burn. It’s tradition. The next ones will puff and brown and smell like a hug you didn’t know you missed.
- Keep them warm or eat them hot: Stack ‘em. Cover with a tea towel. Or not. Maple syrup over top. Maybe a smear of butter. Maybe just a fork and silence.