Why just turn over a new leaf when you can flip pancakes instead? At a restaurant in DeLeon Springs State Park, one good turn deserves another.
By JEFF KLINKENBERG
Published June 7, 2004
[Times photos: Bob Croslin]
Kevin Mohr and his son Kevin Jr. of Orlando use the griddle on their table at the Old Spanish Sugar Mill and Griddle House at DeLeon State Park. The restaurant is the only cook-your-own-pancake restaurant in Florida.
The best place to eat pancakes in Florida? At the Old Spanish Sugar Mill and Griddle House, you can see the clear spring from a window table.
Sometimes, when I grow depressed about the coming of summer, when I think ahead to the sweat in my eyes and the mosquitoes on my ankles and the possibility of tropical winds blowing away my home, I have a hankering to eat pancakes.
The best place to eat pancakes in Florida, if not the world, is the Old Spanish Sugar Mill and Griddle House in DeLeon Springs State Park in northeast Florida. When I eat pancakes at the old restaurant, I try to sit near a window and look out at the spring and its gin-clear water, corpulent largemouth bass, prehistoric alligators and mischievous otters.
Such a view whets the appetite for a plate of piping-hot flapjacks. But the main appeal of the rural restaurant is the cooking. I go because I have complete confidence in the culinary talents of the cook.
Forgive the bragging, but the cook is me.
"Lumps are good"
"Honey, you ever eat here before?" asked the blond waitress. I confessed that I had.
"Then you know it's time for you to plug in your griddle and get going."
I plugged in the griddle. I could feel it heating up. In fact, the whole room was growing warmer by the moment. That was because every table in the place featured a griddle. The restaurant is the only cook-your-own-pancake restaurant in Florida.
My server, Peggy O'Neill, returned. She placed on the table pitchers of batter, containers of syrup, butter, cooking oil and a spatula. "Have you ever cooked pancakes before?" asked the take-charge gal. I was pretty sure I had.
"Okay. Then you know you have to use a little oil or else your pancakes are going to burn. Don't be afraid of using a lot of batter. Lumps are good. People tell me, "My pancakes turn out too thin.' They are afraid of lumps. Lumps give body. But here's the secret: If you want to make perfect pancakes, honey, let 'em bubble before you flip."
Hungry as a bear, I couldn't wait to start cooking. I had earned my meal by walking and running the park's 5-mile Wild Persimmon Trail. I had leaped cypress knees, stumbled over oak roots and gotten my feet wet in a swamp. I had followed the tracks of deer, raccoons and bobcat. In fact, I had looked for bears.
Urses americanus floridanus, omnivores, eat mostly vegetable matter, though slow-witted armadillos occasionally show up on the menu. Black bears often are spotted by hikers on the Wild Persimmon Trail, but I wasn't worried. The only time my heart went pitty-pat was when I trotted through the web of an impressively muscular golden-orb weaver spider.
Not exactly Davy Crockett, I screamed and flailed at my clothing in panic. Of course, I neglected to mention my girlish shrieks to the server. "Even Mickey Mouse'
I poured white batter onto the griddle and watched the young pancake take the form of a sweet potato. As I poked, as I prodded, the pancake evolved into something that resembled a manatee calf.
I am one of those people who considers cooking an art, so I next doled out a mixture of five-grain batter - wheat, buckwheat, rye, rice and corn - and got to work. The new creation changed quickly from round to oval and then to something that reminded me, vaguely, of a side view of a human face. Hmmmm. Something familiar. I manipulated the sizzling batter a bit and leaned back. Voila! A self portrait. I couldn't wait to eat my own nose.
"People are really artistic when it comes to cooking pancakes," explained my server. "We get alligators, otters, even Mickey Mouse."
Mickey Mouse came to Florida in 1971. Floridians have breakfasted at the springs for ages. Five thousand years ago, aboriginal people camped here, according to archaeologists who excavated artifacts that included dugout canoes. In 1779, British explorers traded with Seminoles at the spring; later, white settlers built a mill and farmed cotton, corn and sugar cane. Seminoles burned down the mill during their war with federal troops in 1835. Federal troops burned it to the ground during the Civil War.
The mill, and the spring, refused to accept defeat. In the early 20th century, both became a tourist attraction and, later, the winter home for the Clyde Beatty Circus. A fifth-generation miller from Ohio, Peter Schwarze, bought the mill and started a bakery at the site in 1961. An entrepreneur, he was sure he'd improve business by opening a cook-your-own pancake restaurant. Turned out he knew his onions.
In the winter, when tourists are thicker than sandflies in Florida, some hungry patrons wait two hours to pay $4 for the privilege of cooking their own pancakes. On a good weekend, the Old Spanish Sugar Mill Grill and Griddle House goes through 800 pounds of batter. Many customers take seriously the "all you can eat" promise on the menu.
A dip for dessert
My first two pancakes, more cooked than raw, went down easy as pie, prompting me to pour another round. I made smaller pancakes this time, silver dollar pancakes, and was vigilant about flipping them the instant they bubbled. I sampled them with honey, though I prefered the maple syrup and molasses. I was tempted to ask the waitress for blueberries, but the addition of fruit adds a whole dollar to your bill.
My third round of pancakes was as delicious, but fearing I might explode, I didn't go for a personal-best fourth round. Servers remembered the time a single diner, a bearish-looking male, polished off 20 large pancakes in a sitting. I am confident he went home happy.
My depression about the coming summer gone, I sauntered outside and opted to take a dip in that refreshing spring. First I tried to remember my late mother's rules for swimming. Can one eat pancakes and go swimming immediately without risking fatal cramps? Or should the concerned Floridian wait a half-hour or so before going in?
I compromised. I entered the spring without waiting, but remained in the shallows. Hate to ruin a good breakfast by drowning.
- Jeff Klinkenberg can be reached at 727 893-8727 or klink@sptimes.com
DeLeon Springs State Park is open 8 a.m. until sunset daily. Take I-4 through Orlando to Exit 114; follow the access road to US 17/92 in DeLand. Look for state park signs. Turn west on Ponce DeLeon Boulevard. Proceed 1 mile into the park. The restaurant is open every day from 9 a.m. until 4 p.m. except for Thanksgiving and Christmas. For information, call (386) 985-4212.
