A Plate of Blueberry Lemon Oatmeal Pancakes

What you see before you is a plate of pancakes.  A plate of oatmeal pancakes.  A plate of blueberry oatmeal pancakes.  A plate of blueberry and Meyer lemon oatmeal pancakes.

Wait. Before you click away, casting these pancakes off as a chichi breakfast, you should know that they are incredibly simple to make.  A new favorite.  Not that anything could fully replace these guys.  But it’s early January, which means now is the time for warm, fueling breakfasts.

With the addition of two full cups of oats, one could easily classify this recipe as resolution-worthy.  Lest you think I’ve crossed over to the land of chia seed wheatgrass smoothies, it’s important to note there’s also a half cup of melted butter in the batter. 

And while these pancakes are not even close to high maintenance, their heavy reliance on oats requires some concentration when flipping them.  For what you do not see before you is a smaller plate of “the uglies.”   That is, the few pancakes in the batch that didn’t quite make it in the looks department.

Because if you crowd your pan too much or don’t insert your spatula along their undersides with confidence, they tend to fall apart on you.  Fear not.  They are easily mended by pushing their guts back together and carrying on.

As a whole though, these pancakes are magnificent to look at.  As they cook, a golden oaty outline forms, courtesy of the butter, and this creates a lovely lacy pattern on their tops.

But they taste even better than they look. Ever so slightly textured, with the oats softened from spending the night in a bath of buttermilk.  Imparting a subtle nuttiness.  My favorite way to eat them is in a stack of three with a nob of butter and a heavy hand with the maple syrup. 

It’s a mighty fine plate of pancakes.  Plate of oatmeal pancakes.  Plate of blueberry and Meyer lemon oatmeal pancakes.  (Yes, even the “uglies.”)

Blueberry Lemon Oatmeal Pancakes

Adapted from Orangette via the Inn at Fordhook Farm

Ingredients:

2 cups oats

2 cups buttermilk (I used low fat)

½ cup all-purpose flour

2 tbsp sugar

1 tsp baking powder

1 tsp baking soda

½ tsp salt

2 eggs, lightly beaten

½ cup unsalted butter, melted but not hot (plus more butter for the pancakes)

a few drops of juice from a squeezed Meyer lemon 

zest of 1 Meyer lemon

zest of 1 lemon

½ tsp of vanilla extract

¾ cup blueberries (I used frozen from the farmers’ market this past summer)

Instructions:

The night before you plan to make the pancakes, combine the oats and buttermilk in a large-sized bowl, cover, and refrigerate overnight.  When you are ready to make the pancakes, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a medium-sized bowl and set aside. (You can also do this the night ahead, as well.)

Add the eggs and melted butter to the oat mixture, along with the lemon juice, zests, and vanilla and stir until combined.  Add in the flour mixture and stir until it is just combined; fold in the blueberries. (The batter will be thick.)

Heat a large skillet on medium heat and grease it with butter.  Add about ¼ cup of the batter for each pancake, without crowding the pan too much.  When their undersides are brown and the edges of the pancakes are just starting to firm up, flip them and cook each pancake until its center is fully cooked and the other side is golden.  Repeat with a re-greased skillet until all the batter has been used up. (Adjust the heat as necessary if you notice the pancakes are browning too quickly.)

Makes about 12

Notes:

-These freeze wonderfully.

-I used frozen blueberries and did not defrost them (so that their juices wouldn’t run all over the place when I mixed the batter). 

-No need to use Meyer lemon here, per se.  I had a few extra and thought I’d put one to good use.  I used the zest of a regular lemon because regular lemons have more lemony “punch” and I wanted the combo.  You could always forget about the Meyer lemon completely.  (Which is why I decided to leave "Meyer" out of the recipe title.)

-If you don’t have buttermilk but have, say, whole milk use that instead.  I’ve made this recipe a number of times and it doesn’t matter either way.

Meyer Lemon Kumquat Marmalade and Breakfast Musings

I wrote most of this from a coffee shop space with a big window overlooking both the Boston Garden and the Common.  It was easily the best seat in the house, which I suppose is one of the perks of being unable to sleep past 7 am on a Sunday.  Picture this.  I’m drinking an Americano.  Motown is playing.  The sun is up, but just barely. 

Technically, I’m attempting to write about marmalade.  But a good part of me is watching people place their pastry and coffee requests.  I'm using their orders to make assumptions about their lives.  So I'm not entirely focused.  And, in the interest of full discloser, I have a date with some buttermilk buckwheat pancakes around 9 am.  Let it be known, I am easily distracted by pancakes.  And stories I've weaved out of lattes and banana nut loaf.

That said, breakfast has never been my favorite meal.  I'm not a cereal fanatic.  I love eggs, but I don’t find a poached egg mutually exclusive to breakfast.  It slips on top of a nest of pasta or bed of greens as well as it does on toast, as far as I'm concerned. 

For me, breakfast shines best when it functions as an encore for dessert.  Cake batter morphs into a respectable morning option when you put it in a loaf pan and pair it with a cup of coffee.  Or cut a hole out of it and sent it off to the fryer.  And this is what saves breakfast for me.  That, and marmalade.  (See also, jams: here, here and here.)

This marmalade is not as bracing as many others.  Both the Meyer lemons and the kumquats impart a good deal of sweetness, so its bitterness is only sensed on the back edges of your tongue for mere moments.  It’s dangerously close to a jelly, possessing just the right amount of jiggle.  And it spreads easily on warm toast, melting carelessly into it. 

It’s sunshine in a jar on cold winter mornings.  But it’s not chirpy.  Its sturdy British associations prevent it from becoming too cheery.   Which means those who are not morning people—and likely avoid getting up at 7 am for no reason—won't mime sticking a finger down their throats when they see its bright tangerine hue.

So it occurs to me on my second Americano, caffeine pulsing and “If I Were Your Woman” playing—both coursing through my veins—that I might just be a converted citizen for breakfast.  Provided that I have the right music, a good cup of coffee, and the promise of marmalade. All that and perhaps some buckwheat pancakes.  These things take the cake for me.  Breakfast cake or otherwise.

Meyer Lemon Kumquat Marmalade

Adapted from The Blue Chair Jam Cookbook

Ingredients:

1 1/3 pounds Meyer lemons

½ pound kumquats, divided

Pinch of salt

6 cups sugar

2½ ounces freshly squeezed lemon juice

Dash of orange blossom water

Instructions:

Day 1

Cut each of your lemons into eighths lengthwise (wedges) and remove their seeds.  Take ½ your kumquats and cut them in half, lengthwise.  Remove any seeds you see, but it is okay if a few remain.  Add your halved kumquats and your lemon eighths into a saucepan that is large enough to fit your fruit slices into a single layer.  Add cold water until the fruit bobs freely; cover and let it sit overnight in the refrigerator.

Take your remaining ¼ pound of kumquats and halve them crosswise and then cut each half lengthwise into small strips, removing the seeds.  In a separate saucepan (this can be smaller in size), add enough water to cover the kumquat slices by 1 inch.  Cover and let sit it overnight in the refrigerator.

Day 2

Bring the saucepan with the kumquat halves and lemon wedges to a boil over high heat (uncovered), add a pinch of salt, then reduce the heat to medium and cook at a simmer for 2-3 hours; as the fruit cooks, press down on it with a wooden spoon every 30 minutes or so.  During this process, the fruit should have enough water to remain submerged; add a little water if necessary.  The fruit is done when it is very soft, with the liquid turning syrupy.

When the fruit is finished cooking, strain its juice through a strainer into a large bowl.  At this point, do a quick rinse of your large saucepan and then put the juice back into it.  Set the strainer over the saucepan, so that it is suspended, then add the separated fruit pulp back into the strainer; cover the pan and the strainer with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.

Meanwhile, prepare the kumquat strips by bringing them to a boil over high heat and then decrease the heat to medium and cook at a simmer for about 30 minutes, or until the fruit is very tender and the liquid has reduced.  Cover and refrigerate overnight.

Day 3

Place a saucer with a few metal spoons in the freezer so that you can test your marmalade for doneness.

Discard the fruit pulp that has been resting over your liquid and strain the kumquat lemon juice once or twice to remove any remaining solids.  Rinse your large saucepan again.  Pour the liquid back into your large saucepan and add the sugar, fresh lemon juice, and kumquat strip mixture; stir well.

Bring the mixture to a boil over high heat; the mixture will begin to bubble gently: do not stir it during this time.  Once the mixture starts to foam, stir it every few minutes.  It will cook for about 40 minutes.  The longer the mixture cooks, the more concentrated it will get and towards the end you may need to stir it every minute or so, so that the bottom doesn’t scorch; decrease the heat slightly, if necessary.  You can start to test the marmalade for doneness when its color darkens and the bubbles become small.  At this stage, add the orange blossom water and stir to combine.

To test the marmalade, put ½ a spoonful on one of your frozen spoons and stick the spoon back in the freezer for 3-4 minutes.  (It is ready to be checked when the bottom of the spoon feels room temperature).  Tilt the spoon vertically; the marmalade should not run off the spoon and should wrinkle slightly if pushed up the spoon.  If the marmalade runs, continue to cook it for a few more minutes and continue to retest, using additional frozen spoons as necessary.

Once the marmalade is finished, turn off the heat and skim any foam off the top; do not stir it.  Let the marmalade rest for about 10 minutes and then fill one jar.  If you notice the kumquat strips migrating towards the top of the jar, wait 5 more minutes before filling the remaining jars.  At this stage, you can process the jars according to canning jar manufacturer instructions.  Or place one jar in your fridge and the remaining jars into your freezer (or into the hands of friends).

Makes about 4 pints

Notes:

-Yes, this is 3 days of your life devoted to marmalade.  But it doesn’t rob you of too much time on any given day. Also, yes, the directions read more like a book, but they help guide you during the process, assuring you along the way that things are, in fact, going smoothly.  Take it day by day.

-Worried you will have marmalade coming at you from all corners?  You might.  Do you go through shameful amounts of jams and jellies?  Do you keep company with other marmalade-loving souls?  If so, this recipe is for you.  And please take comfort in knowing that I halved, yes halved, the recipe.

-The marmalade is worth it.  In case you were teetering.  Also, it appears that a pint of jam on the Blue Chair Fruit website would cost about 25 dollars.  I'm not saying I wouldn't pay this much for it.  But it's nice not to have to.

Protection with Meyer Lemon Parsnip Puree

It feels a little odd to wax poetically about fluffy parsnip puree in the presence of Meyer lemons right now. It’s a little precious. A little too perfect. Certainly the opposite of how I’ve been feeling lately. I’ve been a tad cranky.

Impervious also comes to mind. I’ve been listening to Simon and Garfunkel’s “I Am a Rock” on repeat. A lot. I’ve been unmoved at the sight of my tulips peaking up from the earth. (Which is odd, considering the deep, dark winter we’ve had.) Truthfully, I think I’m just exhausted from life at the moment.

Luckily, this dish came along and brightened my spirits a bit. It’s full of hope: scallops resting on clouds of parsnips. You may have noticed the recipe title lists the parsnips before the scallops. In a world where the scallop is king, here he’s almost more of a condiment. Though the scallops’ sweetness really elevates the dish and I think it would be a mistake to forgo them, it’s the parsnip that is the true star.

If you are lucky enough to find a farmer that has been keeping his parsnips all winter, you’ll perhaps find that they are unusually delicious; parsnips that have been sulking underground in the cold get sweeter when picked during the last days of winter or beginning whispers of spring. (One can only hope the same will soon be true for me.)

A tad skeptical on the pleasures of parsnips? It’s never a bad idea to invest in a little decadence. The addition of heavy cream, a vinegar syrup reduction, and a dose of floral Myer lemon may very well change your mind.

Or it could be that you’ve never had parsnips the way chef Jeremy Sewall intended. I was lucky to attend a dinner talk hosted by Island Creek Oyster Bar where he served this fantastic dish. He also had some gnocchi tossed in this recipe, but right now I know my limits. A mercurial temperament and dough associated with carefree lightness do not mix. I had to fill in some holes in the recipe (and sadly part with the gnocchi portion), but I think the dish came close to my first tasting of it at the talk.

Add a glass of muscadet (or perhaps a few swigs straight from the bottle, depending on your day) and consider yourself brightened. It really is a nice way to welcome spring. We won’t have Meyer lemons for much longer, so best to enjoy while you can. And for right now, I’ve got my Meyer lemons and my parsnips to protect me. I am shielded in a creamy puree. (Cue Simon and Garfunkel.)

Meyer Lemon Parsnip Puree with Seared Scallops

1/4 cup sherry vinegar

3 tbsp honey

3 tbsp butter, plus additional butter for cooking the scallops

6 parsnips, peeled and chopped into about 1/2 inch pieces

Kosher salt, to taste

1 cup heavy cream

4 Meyer lemons, zest and juice

Whole milk, as needed to thin to desired consistency

Scallops

In a small sauce pan combine vinegar and honey until syrupy and reduced to about half, which may take about 10 minutes. Set aside. Heat a medium saucepan on medium low heat. Add butter and cook until it starts to turn a deep honey color and add parsnips and salt. Cook about 10 minutes, or until parsnips start to soften. Add cream and continue to cook until the cream reduces and starts to coat the parsnips (there will still be a little liquid remaining). Add honey vinegar reduction, zest and juice of the lemons and puree mixture. Taste and adjust for seasoning and add milk to thin, if desired.

Puree makes about 3-4 cups (hard to say exactly when you eat it from the bowl of your food processor)

Notes:

-To cook the scallops, pat them down scallops to remove any moisture. Put dry pan on medium to high heat. Add butter and scallops. Cook for about 1 minute, until crust forms on the scallops and then briefly turn over and cook for another 30 seconds or so.