No. 3078

Pancakes with Orange Flower Water—Large

Grandes Crepes a l'Eau de Fleur d'Oranger

Sift twelve ounces of flour into a basin; add to it a grain of salt, and mix in six to eight eggs, one by one, beating the paste each time for three or four minutes so as to have it smooth and light; put in two spoonfuls of powdered sugar, and four spoonfuls of good olive oil; when the mixture is finished add two or three spoonfuls of raw cream, and as much brandy; the paste should be flowing without being liquid; cover the basin with a cloth, and let it rest for a couple of hours. Heat two omelet pans, butter them liberally with a brush dipped in clarified butter, and cover the bottom with a rather thick layer of the paste; prick it with the prong of a fork to have the liquid parts fall to the bottom. As soon as the pancake attains consistency rotate the pan vigorously to detach it from the pan, and toss it over with one stroke; butter the bottom of the pan and the top of the pancake with melted butter without ceasing to toss the pan over a slow fire so that it finishes to cook. When the pancake is properly done slide it on a round dish, having the bottom bestrewn with brown sugar, and dredge more of the same over the top; then sprinkle with a few drops of orange flower water, and on this slip the second pancake; sweeten and sprinkle it the same. Send the dish at once to the table so that they can be eaten hot while the other two are being prepared.

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For the Modern Kitchen

Ranhofer's "grandes crepes" are not the thin lace crêpes of a modern brunch: they are thick, eggy, pan-sized cakes, buttered on both faces and stacked with brown sugar and orange flower water between the layers. The batter is the whole job, and it needs its rest.

The two-hour rest is not optionalTwelve ounces of flour beaten hard with six to eight eggs develops a good deal of gluten, and an unrested batter will fight the pan and cook tough. Two hours covered at room temperature lets it relax and the flour hydrate fully; the batter also loosens noticeably as it sits, which is why the target consistency is "flowing without being liquid."
MeasurementsTwelve ounces of flour is about 2 3/4 cups scooped, but weigh it. A "spoonful" in The Epicurean generally means a tablespoon, so read roughly two tablespoons sugar, four tablespoons oil, two to three tablespoons cream and the same of brandy. A "grain of salt" is a pinch.
Raw cream"Raw cream" here most likely distinguishes fresh liquid cream from cooked or whipped cream. Ordinary heavy cream is the right substitute, and it is cooked in the pan regardless.
Olive oil in the batterFour tablespoons is a large amount and a period-French choice; a strong modern extra-virgin oil will dominate the orange flower water. Use a mild or refined olive oil, or a neutral oil, unless the fruity note is wanted.
The pans and the heatAn "omelet pan" is a heavy 9- to 10-inch skillet with sloping sides. Two pans working in rotation is how the original gets four pancakes to table hot. Keep the fire genuinely slow: these are thick and need time to set through, and high heat will brown the outside before the center firms.
Pricking the batterThe fork-prong step exists because the layer is thick. Piercing the setting surface lets uncooked batter drain down to the hot metal so the cake cooks evenly instead of staying wet in the middle. Skip it and the flip will tear.
Orange flower waterStrength varies a great deal between bottlings. Start with three or four drops per layer and taste; past a certain point it turns soapy and cannot be corrected.
Brown sugarLight brown sugar, or turbinado if you want it to stay a little crunchy between the layers, suits the stacking here.
Yield and serviceThe pancakes go out two to a dish, with two more cooking behind them; Ranhofer gives no total yield or number of servings. Serve hot, as a sweet course.

A Little History

The Epicurean (1894) is Charles Ranhofer's record of what he cooked in some thirty years at Delmonico's in New York, and its dessert chapters are essentially Parisian pastry translated for an American kitchen. Orange flower water — distilled from bitter orange blossom, and a fixture of French and Mediterranean confectionery long before vanilla extract became cheap — was a standard perfume for batters, custards and syrups in this tradition. These thick, oil-enriched cakes, buttered and stacked, belong to an older family of crêpes closer to the pancakes of Candlemas than to the paper-thin crêpe Suzette style that would dominate restaurant menus a generation later. The instruction to send two to table while the other two cook is a reminder that this was a dish for a small, attentive dining room.