week six: ‘sometimes the simplest dishes are the hardest to do’

February 10, 2009

Chef Pierre’s five-year-old grandson often requests crêpes for breakfast on sundays. Chef prepares the traditional, paper-thin french pancake using just eggs, salt, flour, melted butter, sugar and milk. he serves it simply, with just a dusting of sugar. when asked if he adds any amenities like fruit, sauce, cheese, meat or hazelnut spread to his morning crêpes, he replied definitively: “No.”

crêpes, like plain french-style omelets, are fairly straightforward and require few ingredients. but, like most impeccable simple dishes, they require the right amount of care and attention. “sometimes the simplest dishes, they are the hardest to do,” Chef said in the classroom that day.

crêpe batter evolves in consistency as it is prepared–from a glutenous, elastic mixture to a syrupy batter. it is this stage-by-stage preparation that helps it achieve the right consistency. at the demonstration table, Chef melted some butter in a small saucepan as he began to assemble the simple recipe in a bowl: 2 eggs, a “lee-ttle” salt, about 4 tablespoons flour. then mix well.

he whisked vigorously until streaks of silver became visible underneath the batter each time the whisk scraped the bottom of the bowl. the mixture itself took on a stretchy, shiny appearance as the gluten developed. next, he sprinkled in a “touch” of sugar and slowly poured in the melted butter in a thin stream, followed by whole milk. “i don’t do it exactly; you just want it to be the right consis-tahn-cy,”he said. he whisked again, this time incorporating the liquid until the mixture changed into a thin batter.

he heated a few pats of butter in a small frying pan, and, using the familiar lipped wooden spoon that a former student’s friend had made for him, he dripped no more than a few tablespoons of batter into the pan. he instantly began turning the pan in large, lazy circles to completely cover the bottom with a paper-thin layer of batter. “make sure you don’t put too much mix in the pan, eh?” we want those things to be crêpes not frisbees.” clearly he had foreseen the very problem we would struggle with at station. later that night he would tell us, “i call the first crêpe the one which is not good.”

using a small spatula, he slowly peeled the crêpe off the pan starting from the outside working in. he flipped the crêpe to expose the cooked side: a light yellow disk dotted with light brown rings from cooking quickly in the butter. a few minutes later, he guided the crêpe out of the pan and onto his cutting board, where he dusted it lightly with sugar, rolled it up and laid it on a plate.

“make sure you put more butter in the pan before each one you make,” he advised, as he poured another spoonful of batter into the pan. when it was just about ready to be flipped, he looked up: “i used to make the crêpes jump for my grandson,” he said, flinging a crêpe into the air to our delight. it landed on the countertop behind him.

back at station, pete and i made a few “frisbees” of our own, misjudging how little batter is actually needed to thinly cover the whole pan. then there were other hurdles: how to quickly spread the batter evenly around the pan, how much butter to cook the crêpe in, what device to flip with and how to achieve that delicate browned look without taking it too far or not far enough. i frowned at the pile of misfit crêpes that was forming on my board: one bloated, one overly browned, one overly buttered, one lopsided and slightly undercooked. however, all the frustration melted after i achieved that single, perfect crêpe.

i carefully spooned just a few tablespoons of batter into the pan that i had buttered (modestly) and warmed. before the batter could cook to the bottom, i mimicked the lazy, oblong circles Chef had made using turns of his wrist to get a thin layer of batter onto the pan. i forced myself to leave the crêpe alone for a minute before i tentatively slid my spatula beneath the batter at the edge of the pan to check if it was about ready to flip. i carefully slid the spatula further in, tilting the pan slightly to encourage the pancake to slide off the bottom. i flipped it over and allowed it a few more minutes to cook as i admired my work on the cooked half. the butter had created lovely golden-brown little rings in the pancake. after a few more minutes, i slid the crêpe onto my cutting board. pete asked if i wanted to make any more, but i just stood there for a moment, savoring my first successful crêpe that had been so hard to do.