I don’t know why, or where, or when, but sometime yesterday the word “Crepe,” popped up in my head after decades of lying dormant in my memory banks.
As I pondered this word, the most pleasant of childhood memories swept over me.
I mentally time travelled back to my 6th year, and am being shown how to make a crepe. I don’t remember who was showing me, but I believe it could have been one of many, for indeed making crepes seems to have been a family favorite. I have distinct memories of being coached by my mother, father, grandparents and aunts.
There I was, barely tall enough to see over the stove-top and staring anxiously at the frying batter as it sizzled in the pan. This was one of my first lessons in patience as I was sternly instructed to wait until the edges were faintly brown, and the middle had turned bubbly.
Then, and only then was I allowed the fateful flip.
Once the crepes were ready, we would all sit down to finally eat. Now, I was to be confronted by the most important decisions a child could make.
Would it be syrup or fruit?
My first instinct was to reach for the syrup. However, I watched as the adults around me were reaching for the jam. With a spoon they would slather a thick coating of red goo over the entire crepe then proceed to roll this into a fat, plump, roll of sticky sweet goodness was almost too much for my young senses.
As all these memories came back to me I deemed that today, there would be crepes.
Having bragged to my daughter that I was making crepes since I was six, I was a little nervous this morning as I began my endeavor.
On her part, in anticipation of my making crepes, Jen had purchases three peaches, and this morning fried them in a bit of butter with lemon zest & sugar.
Using a recipe found on allrecipes.com I mixed the ingredients and went to work.
By the time I poured my third crepe, I was feeling like a six year old again.
Before long, I was carrying a neat little pile of crepes to the dining room table where I found Jen and our two dogs waiting to be fed.
Happily, we all agreed that the crepes were a success.
This revelation now leaves me with a most puzzling question…
Why did I wait so long to do this?
This is a great true story! Something similar happened to me . . . (BTW I’ve been making crepes forever, even have a special plastic container in the frig to keep leftover batter, sometimes adding another egg the second round. I fill them with all kinds of stuff, marmelade yes usually apricot for breakfast, never syrup, and for dinners filled with leftover meat and veggies wrapped inside; its yummy as the leftovers get a real lift with fresh crepes. Wouldn’t you know, your story makes my dinner tonight certain: crepes filled with leftover Asiago Chicken and gravy and green beans on the side. Thanks!!!) . . . but back what happened to me many years go (and I have been making Spaetzle ever since). I woke up to a compelling dream many years ago, Ralph and Wolf were small boys: I saw my corpulent grandmother scrape the Spaetzle dough (Italian pasta dough) into a large pot of boiling water (just as real as when I used to see her when I was very young in Germany); her body shook back and forth (her satisfaction at her bubbling creations in the pot reflected on her smiling face), as she scraped the dough from a good size board into the boiling salt water. This dream experience was hypnotic. The same day I went to work to make Spaetzle from my Haarer German cookbook and have made it ever since. The kids to this day enjoy Spaetzle (more than box pasta), when I make roast beef or whatever meat dish. Anyway, sorry to be so longwinded. Thanks again for this story! Love, Irmgard
So happy dear Aunt, that you liked my post. It seems a millennia since I’ve had spaetzle. You have inspired me to study the dream you described and try my hand at it. You were always an exceptional cook. I love you dearly… x
Honey…try crepes with Nutella…very European!