Inconceivable!

Yesterday I made pancakes for the hostel girls as part of their extra meal. First of all, they were delicious. A bit of homemade syrup and they’re almost better than pancakes back in America. Even making them one at a time to serve 40 wasn’t that bad, because I got an early start and knew I would probably end up doing one at a time. However, I was beset by a difficulty that I have now found to be an integral part of how Indians view food, and that is their innate difficulty in accepting something new when it comes to food.

I would like to describe for you what a perfect American pancake should be. It’s light, fluffy, and thick. It should be lightly browned on both sides but still only just cooked within. If you pour syrup on top of it, it should absorb most, but not all of the liquid sugar while still holding its structure when cut and picked up with a fork. Rich yet light, sweet and a little bit salty, a perfect pancake is practically accompanied by a chorus of angels. There should be a plateful of pancakes at the end of the rainbow, not a pot of gold.

Constructing a good pancake is not rocket science, but there are some guidelines that must be followed. You must mix approximately equal amounts, by volume, of wet and dry ingredients along with a chemical leavener like baking powder, but do not stir them too much. Lots of mixing means that you will develop gluten in the pancakes, a tough and fibrous protein in wheat flours that is beloved in bread and pizza but the enemy of delicate cakes and cookies. It means that you have to stop mixing the pancake batter while there are still lumps of unmixed flour in it. No. Stop. Walk away from the bowl. Do not overmix. You will regret it.

The other thing you must remember is that in order for the baking powder to do its job, you shouldn’t flatten the mixture right when you put it on the hot surface. Just dump it on and let its own weight take care of spreading itself out. Then be patient, and let low, steady heat do its job. Only then will you be rewarded with thick, fluffy gifts from the gods.

Here’s the problem that you will experience when making American pancakes for Indians, if you ever find yourself in that unique situation: they won’t like how you make it. Not one bit. Three things about making pancakes contrast directly with typical Indian cooking. First, they like to mix the bejeezus out of everything. Second, they like to put the heat up as high as it will go. Third, they have no patience with their food and want it as soon as possible.

Pancakes are delicate. You have to love them, and they will love you back. The whole time I was making the flapjacks, Neetu, the hostel cook, wanted to flip them quickly and go on to the next one. I practically had to handcuff the spatula to myself. She and all of the other Indians that have watched me make pancakes also want to spread them out thinly to cover the entire surface. I really don’t know why. It frustrates me, because here I am, going out of my way to make something new and different for people who have never had it before, and they keep telling me how I can do it better, their way. They’ve never even heard of pancakes before, and they’re telling me the proper method before I even turn on the gas. Today it wasn’t so bad, but I just about smacked somebody with a hot iron pan the last time I made them for 4 or 5 of the staff last week. It went something like this:

-Mr. Pat, what do you make?

-Pancakes.

-This is flour, milk and baking powder?

-Yes.

-No sugar?

-No, you put a sweet liquid on top of it before you eat them.

-These are not sweet. You need to add more sugar.

-No, I just told you, the sugar is added after.

-So you must add more salt.

-No, they will be sweet.

-They are not sweet.

-I told you, put syrup on them.

-Ok, give us the syrup.

-I haven’t made it yet. It is heating right now.

-So these are salty. Put more salt.

-(insert sound of brain exploding)

Oh, let me tell you about when Malkeet tried to make one. First I showed him how I did it: slowly, thick, low heat. I made sure that he understood those three points. I even had somebody translate it. Then I handed him the spatula. He promptly jacked up the heat, threw way too much batter on the iron, spread it out as thin as possible, and tried to flip it in ten seconds. Needless to say, it didn’t turn out so well. It looked like a partially burnt, partially uncooked pile of gelatinized vomit. He never quite got it right that day.

The best part about all of this is when they finally eat one of my pancakes (with syrup). Their face lights up and I can practically hear their stomach scream with joy. It’s kind of like that short bald guy in the Princess Bride. “These taste good? Inconceivable!” I’m not surprised, and frankly, I can’t take the credit. The milk and flour here (and the eggs, when you’re not making them for vegetarians) are such great quality that it’s hard to make a bad pancake. But even after they tasted how good mine are, some still tell me that I’m making them wrong. I just don’t get it.

What is it about new things that they find so hard to accept? To be honest, when I think about it, I can’t help but feel somewhat offended. After all, I’m the one who comes to their country and throws out years of conditioning on etiquette, basic hygiene and eating habits, just to name a few, and they can’t even let me show them a new food without injecting their culture into it.

Wait a second…

Isn’t that what Europeans did to every indigenous people on the American landmasses hundreds of years ago? Isn’t that what Americans did to Native Americans? Isn’t that what Westerners do to the rest of the world through globalization today?

Um… my bad.

Well, damn. Guess I’m the one that needs to be more patient and tolerant.

“The American actually learned something? Inconceivable!”