Why Do People with Allergies Love Pancakes So Much?

Do you ever notice that food allergy families are really big on pancakes? Myself included. It’s actually my number one quick meal to make at home, any time of day. But it’s something I’ve never once ordered in a restaurant. Allergy moms and dads often make big batches of pancakes and freeze them for easy meal prep when they need it. Allergy kids love their trusty pancakes. While non-allergy folk often order a single flapjack with their whole brunch ordeal, we are more likely to devour an entire plate of them from the comfort of our home.

Although I have put out several tasty pancake recipes over the years, in my own kitchen I often just whisk some things together with a fork, spoon into a hot pan, and hope for the best.

But why do we love them so much? I have theories.

1. Doughy satisfaction

   Who would ever turn down a hot, fluffy pancake? They’re an ultimate comfort food and require so much less prep work than cookies or actual cake. You don’t have to heat the oven up. There are no mixing bowls, electric mixers, or sheet pans to clean. Just an easy access highway to pan-fried batter.

2. CALORIES

   Often times we just need to consume calories, stat! We know we likely won’t be able to get food from restaurants once we leave the house, so we’ve gotta load up at home. I can’t even count how many times my mom has said “make sure you eat” before I left the house. Even going so far as to call me to ensure I had eaten something. Pancakes were an acceptable food. They provided enough calories for me to be satisfied for a long time so that I wouldn’t end up starving and alone, fainting into a ditch somewhere. I don’t even add sugar most of the time; honey, flour, applesauce or egg, blueberries or banana chunks, and baking soda + powder. Some combination of these ingredients, fried in a hot pan, is always delicious.

3. Excuse to eat both chocolate and cake

   This really explains itself. Who wouldn’t love to eat cake and chocolate chips for breakfast, or any meal of the day? No kid would ever turn that down, which means no empty plates, which means satisfied parents. Amiright?

A Confession: I Have Strange Food Obsessions

We all have our quirks. Most of mine just happen to center around food.

Popping the stems off mushrooms
Turn it upside down in my hand, press against the stem with my thumb, then take joy in the little “pop” noise it makes when the stem severs from the cap. It’s my own little secret that I bring onomatopoeia’s to life when I’m alone in my kitchen. My cousin recently caught me doing it (with a broad smile on my face all the while) and asked why I would waste half of a perfectly good mushroom. I don’t make the rules, this is just how it’s done.

Peeling mushrooms
Poor mushrooms just can’t catch a break. First I cut their legs off, then I skin ‘em. With zeal. Peeling the skin off a mushroom is like wiping wet grout off of freshly laid tiles; extremely satisfying.

Eating my oatmeal from front to back
You’ve probably seen my lazy oatmeal trick and know that I eat oatmeal almost every single day. But what I’ve never divulged is that my favorite thing about steaming oatmeal in the bowl is that it cooks in an orderly fashion; very flat and even on top. Then I scoop it up in even spoonfuls, starting from the front of the bowl and working my way towards my person. Not that I’m particular at all…

Putting raspberries on the tip of my tongue
I question the sanity of anyone who can pop a raspberry into their mouth and not be compelled to spear it with the tip of their tongue. It’s the most efficient way to squish it, second only to regular chewing.

Keeping rappini in line
Maybe because the tops are so wild, or because the green is so vibrant and free, I feel the need to constrain rappini. I have to cut the bottoms off while holding the bunch down perfectly straight, then wash the stalks carefully, without disrupting the order, and then toss them in the pan in one military-like bunch. Who knows what would happen if I let it break free? I dare not ask.

Snapping asparagus
Much like the hapless casualty of mushroom stems, upon entering my kitchen asparagus faces a similar fate. There’s nothing like the snap you feel when the wooden end of the asparagus is detached from its stem, having served its purpose and now relinquished to a useless object. The top, tender portion destined for greatness (flavor town) like the space shuttle breaking off from its rocket. Plus it just sounds good.