Tag Archives: Chefs

A Mess of Crêpes- Actually They’re Crepes.

Mastering the Art of French Cooking, original ...

This is (more or less) my copy of Julia and Simca's book! --Image via Wikipedia

First of all. These are not Julia Child Crêpes Suzette or even “real” crepes. I love traditional crêpes but sometimes I want the sugary Joy of Cooking-based recipe that my mother has concocted. In fact to prevent the food purists (of which I kind of am) from writing me about what a crêpe really is let’s just call them crepes. There are /ˈkreɪp/ and there are cray-pps (yes I made up that other phonetic spelling but I think you can get it.) I’m writing about cray-pps.

A few posts ago (maybe two or four) I mentioned that I was making a Mess of Crepes. I’m sure you were all on the edge of your seats waiting to find out what exactly I meant by this so here is the recipe.

First make sure that you like sweet things. Do you? Good.

The next thing you need is our super secret recipe. Basically we just adjusted the recipe in the Joy of Cooking. Here it is:

  • 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
  • 3/4 cup milk
  • 1/2 cup of lukewarm water
  • 3 large eggs (home raised free ranged eggs are the best but I’m a bit biased)
  • 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
  • 3+ tablespoons sugar (add more as your taste runs)
  • pinch of salt

Beat it all together. Now take a flat pan, about the size you’d use if you were normally making crêpes or perhaps scrambled eggs, and add a Julia Child sized tablespoon of butter to the pan and heat it so it’s all buttered up. Now pour in the batter. All of it. With a spatula (I’d recommend against using a spoon or fork as the batter tends to stick into these particular utensils) mix it up like scrambled eggs. Keep mixing until it’s firm and lightly, lightly browned. When you’ve got this in your pan then drop it onto a plate. Eat it. Die of cholesterol. Enjoy.

This may not sound like a big break through but I feel like most people wouldn’t do this without some prompting. It’s funny how scared people are to play around with recipes. I’ve never really felt like I need to follow a direction word for word. After all if it turns out inedible then I simply feed it to the chickens or our garden and cook a frozen pot pie.

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Protected: Some Cathartic Writing

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A Bit of a Confession

Julia Child's kitchen at the Smithsonian Natio...

Image via Wikipedia

I’ve always considered myself a smidgen of a foodie. A young foodie with time to mature and expand my palate. I’ve read MFK Fisher, Judith Jones and Julia Child. My most recent podcast was The Splendid Table with Lynne Rosetta Casper. My bedtime reading has been “The New Larousse Gastronomique“. Curnonsky is a love of mine. I just tore a hunk of a locally baked baguette and shoved it my mouth and quite nearly orgasmed.

My confession is that up until 7.30-ish this evening I had never seen an episode of The French Chef.

For quite awhile I’ve been in awe of Julia Child (I’ve watched Julia and Jaques and another show from the ’90s where she cooks with guests, I’ve seen clips of her online, I’ve read her book, I’ve cooked from Mastering, I’ve advocated just cutting Julie out of “Julie and Julia“, I’ve seen Dan Ackroyd’s sketch many times) but for some reason I’ve never gotten around to seeing her original show.

Tonight I finally lived a dream and combined Julia Child with a date. Alright, so the date turned out not to be a date (we’re just friends, yada yada yada) but I finally got to see The French Chef. It was everything I’d hoped it to be and more, The French Chef that is and not the date, though you probably got that already.

It was beautiful to see Julia Child in her kitchen, so comfortable and so chummy (on the chummy note: I sincerely feel like it’s just me and my not-a-date that Julia talks to when she looks out through the television screen to us.) Watching her cook gave me the same chills down my spine that I get when I see deer in the woods and photographs of J.R.R. Tolkien writing, it’s the chills of seeing someone exactly in their element.

When I think what would have happened if Julia (I feel comfortable calling her Julia in the same way that Benjamin Franklin is Ben and Patrick Leahy is Pat) had not taken Paul’s advice (and the advice of others) and decided to not go into television I get chills of another kind. Just imagining a world without that smile and tooting “Bon Appetit!” Go on, imagine it, I dare you. You just tried to imagine it, didn’t you? And you’re currently curled up in the fetal position with feces stained undergarments and tears running down your cheekbones, aren’t you? You saw the boils in a bag and bland potatoes with flaccid meat and processed food passing through your intestine. Go ahead and sob some more, I understand.

I’m not trying to say that Julia Child single-handedly revolutionized food in America (James Beard, Judith Jones and many others played very important roles) but she certainly seemed to have brought it into the main stream. (Fun fact: Her show was also the first to be adapted for the deaf, according to Wikipedia.)

Where was this post going again? Oh yes:

  1. I don’t know how I lived before watching The French Chef
  2. It’s best to have minor details such as “Is this a date?” cleared up before you watch Julia Child together and go for a moonlit walk in the woods together.
  3. Julia Child is, to quote Satchel Pooch, “The treat giver to my heart.”

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