Crepes

I'M BACK BABY!

After a couple of weeks of hardcore tunnel vision, my impossible deadlines were met. And now I can be human again. For starters, a thank you for your patience. And for the main course, a HUGE thank you to Josh for not moving out when I turn into StressWife on deadline. Heather + deadlines = not pretty.

ANYHOW, where was I? Crepes? Yes, that is exactly where I was. I thought I was nearing the end of the dreaded breakfast section, when a devilish little recipe for crepes not listed on the breakfast title page made itself known to me. I was not amused. Then again, I actually like crepes.

I am aware that that last statement violates all normal tenets of the Heather universe. They are breakfast-y, carb-y, etc. After all, they are basically pancakes. But I am merely reporting the truth. And the truth is there is a crepe place by my old apartment in Chicago that is delicious and which I enjoyed frequenting. So there you go.

Whether I would be able to recreate crepes to that level, however, was another story all together. This recipe is a cookbook recipe given by Josh's Aunt Nancy & Uncle David, with adjustments made by his mother with a note tweaking the proportions. We all know that I basically think Josh's mom's cooking information is the Holy Grail, so I wasn't about to buck her suggestions.

So, for a I-finally-finished-my-screenplay-and-treatment celebration (well, the day after I got drunk at my friends' house), I made crepes for brinner. I was daunted; television has given me the impression that they are mui delicate to make. Josh came in to offer me help, but then thought better of it and decided I could go it alone. I will admit that the first couple were a little thick, but ultimately I got the hang of it. As you can only make one at a time, though, you can imagine it took quite some time to make. Which never increases the likelihood that I'll make something again.

In the end, the crepes came out okay, I think, but just okay. Josh pronounced them (say it with me) 'good', but has not been gorging himself on leftovers, which is always very telling. Evidently he prefers savory crepes, which I did try to make, but I found them disappointing. The sweet ones were much better by far. But still, I think I might leave crepes to the experts.

How do you say 'eh' in French?

French Pancakes or Crepes
Sift:
1 1/2 cup all-purpose flour

Resift with:
1 tsp salt
2 tsp double-acting baking powder (is there any other kind?)
3 tbsp powdered sugar (which I hope is the same thing as confectioner's sugar)

Beat:
4 eggs

Add and beat:
1 1/4 cup milk
1/2 cup water
1 tsp vanilla or 1 tsp grated lemon rind

Be relieved no pantry moths were in the dry ingredients you used. Make a well in the sifted ingredients. Pour in the liquid ingredients. Have them overflow the well. Combine them with a few swift strokes. Or, you know, just normal stirring. Ignore the lumps; they will take care of themselves. You may rest the batter refrigerated 3 to 6 hours. Wonder if 'may' means 'should'. Decide it does and refrigerate.

Heat a 5" skillet. Grease it with a few drops of olive oil. Be delighted you are smart enough to know the lemon infused olive oil your cousin gave you will probably work for this. Add a small quantity of batter. Wonder if you added too much. Be sure you probably did. Tip the skillet and let the batter spread over the bottom. Cook the pancake over moderate heat. When it is brown underneath, reverse it and brown the other wide. Wonder how you are supposed to know when the underneath is brown, since YOU CAN'T SEE IT. Use a few drops of oil for each pancake.

Realize half way through that your mother-in-law's proportions doubled the recipe, which means you may or may not be making nearly 30 crepes. Be pretty sure you are going to die in front of this stove making crepes.

Spread the cake with jelly. Opt for the prickly pear jelly that your friend made and canned for you in 2004 and you have been hoarding ever since. Yes, that means you moved it no less than three times. Also opt for marionberry preserves on others, both to play it safe in case the prickly pear jelly isn't good (it is, thank God, very good) and to afford more Marion Barry jokes. Roll it and sprinkle with confectioners' sugar. Eat. Have a zillion left over.