Excerpt from Tin Pancakes by Sasha Aslanian
She called them "tin panacakes." With her thick Norwegian accent, my grandmother couldn't pronounce "thin." Her American grandkids giggled about her mispronunciation, but we'd dive for the platter piled with pancakes folded as neatly as handkerchiefs. Her "tynne pannekaker," as they're called in Norwegian, were light brown with dapples from the frying pan, lightly sugared and then folded into quarters. They were always served with at least three kinds of her homemade jam. Apricot, my favorite, was always on the table. This moveable feast could appear on the picnic table at our cabin, in her backyard in Seattle, or at our house in Minnesota when she came to visit.
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