Blueberry Buttermilk Pancake Casserole
While we have provided a jump to recipe button, please note that if you scroll straight to the recipe card, you may miss helpful details about ingredients, step-by-step tips, answers to common questions and a lot more informations that can help your recipe turn out even better.
I believe brunch is a public service. Hear me out: if we could just unite the nation with one tray of warm, comforting carbs, fewer people would argue about parking spots at the farmer’s market. Also, I will fight you for the last blueberry. This is my chaotic attempt to do both with a dish I now call Blueberry Buttermilk Pancake Casserole — ideal for Sundays when you want to be adored without actually having to speak to anyone. If you liked my sheet-pan nonsense before, remember that fluffy pancake muffin recipe that basically started my life choices.
How I Completely Ruined This—More Than Once
There was smoke. Not metaphorical smoke—actual, mild, tear-inducing smoke because I once tried to cram this into a too-hot oven while juggling a toddler and a podcast episode (yes, the podcast won). The first time it came out like a sad, flat cake that smelled suspiciously of sad toast. The texture was wrong in a way that makes you question your entire childhood (crumbs that were simultaneously gummy and dusty—what even is that?). I also forgot the baking soda once and watched a casserole that refused to rise, like it had given up on me. Embarrassing? Yes. Smashingly educational? Also yes. I told three neighbors and then retracted everything because vulnerability is weird.
Why This Version Actually Stops Doing That
Okay, confession time: I sulked for two mornings and then did math with buttermilk. Small changes: the ratio of liquid to flour, the butter temperature (don’t scorch it; we are not making caramel), and — this is huge — letting the batter rest for five minutes so the flour stops being dramatic. Emotionally, I stopped trying to make it perfect and started making it useful. Practically, I trusted the buttermilk to do its thing (acidity + baking soda = tiny party in your casserole). This Blueberry Buttermilk Pancake Casserole works now because I learned to listen to bubbles and to stop overmixing (which I do more often than I admit). Also, I borrowed an idea from my pancake recipe, fluffy & easy—not copying, borrowing, like a polite kitchen ninja.
Ingredients
- 2 cups all-purpose flour
- 1 tablespoon baking powder
- 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 2 cups buttermilk
- 1/4 cup sugar
- 2 large eggs
- 1/4 cup melted butter
- 1 cup fresh blueberries
- Powdered sugar for serving (optional)
Sometimes I think about swapping in frozen berries, because realism, or tossing in lemon zest because I like drama. Budget note: frozen berries are cheaper in winter, texture-wise fresh wins in June. Availability varies; improvise. Also: sometimes I add vanilla. Sometimes I don’t. Don’t at me.
Cooking Unit Converter
If you need quick conversions because your brain refuses to work before coffee, this little tool helps you translate cups into something more exact.
How to Make It Without Losing Your Mind
- Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C) and grease a 9×13 inch baking dish.
- In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
- In another bowl, mix the buttermilk, sugar, eggs, and melted butter until well combined.
- Gradually add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients, stirring until just combined.
- Gently fold in the blueberries.
- Pour the batter into the prepared baking dish and smooth the top.
- Bake for 25-30 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean.
- Allow to cool slightly, dust with powdered sugar if desired, and serve warm.
Also? Don’t overmix. I say that like it’s a warning from a loving aunt who also drinks too much coffee. Let the batter be a little lumpy. If you want crisp edges, use a metal pan; ceramic gives more gentle browning. And if your blueberries all sink to the bottom, you’re not cursed — it’s physics. Toss them in a dusting of flour first next time. Interrupting cookery with feelings: sometimes this casserole feeds a crowd, sometimes it’s revenge. Both are valid.
Kitchen Gossip: Tell Me Your Secrets (and I’ll Tell Mine)
Do you ever make a breakfast and then immediately regret not doubling it? Do you hide muffins in the freezer like contraband? Also, pro tip (or is it a confession?): when my oven is weird I pretend it’s drama and call it "character." Does anyone else give their pans names? (No? Just me?) Speaking of substitutions — and because we are all friends here — here’s a comforting reminder that you can make it without eggs if you must; I once adapted for a neighbor and it was surprisingly fine, not the same but good in its own wrong little way: no-egg pancake recipe. Tell me your disasters and I’ll one-up you with mine. Go.
Questions People Actually Ask (So I Don’t Have To Repeat Myself Ten Times)
Yes. Toss them in a tablespoon of flour so they don’t all sink, and tuck them straight into the batter. They release more juice, which is not a tragedy.
Covered in the fridge for up to 3 days; reheat gently in a low oven or microwave in short bursts. It benefits from being eaten while warm, but I won’t judge your cold casserole rituals.
Absolutely. Assemble and refrigerate up to 8 hours before baking (great for hosting), or bake and freeze slices individually. Label them like an organized person if you want to be delusional.
Low-fat works fine. If you must, mix lemon juice with milk for a quick substitute, but it’s not identical — think of it as a cousin, not a twin.
Yes? No? Maybe. A smidge of cinnamon or a teaspoon of lemon zest brightens it, but don’t turn it into a fruitcake unless you enjoy that kind of mood.
I started writing this because I wanted to impress people with blue-speckled goodness and ended up learning that comfort food is mostly about the intention. Also I learned that powdered sugar makes everything look like effort, which is a lie but a useful one. If someone texts me "brunch at yours?" I will serve this and then ask for help with a plant I cannot keep alive. Wait—did I water the fern—
