Last summer, and I kid you not, Isabella singlehandedly took over the production of feeding this family by making popovers morning, noon, and night. She had the recipe down cold. In fact, she preferred to make them blindfolded and when it came time to crack the eggs, she'd lob each one in the air and slice it in half with a machete.
And I was so looking forward to a renewal of her skills this summer, but for some reason the girls staged a coup in June and declared popovers to be an enemy of the people, and that the only enlightened way to consume milk, eggs, flour, salt and oil, is in the form of la crêpe. It's a complicated ideology that would take ages to explain, but for me it basically translates into finding myself bustling about the kitchen at the beginning of each day, preparing to feed my young. Which is what I would like to call a step in the wrong direction, but don't tell my little revolutionaries I said so...we all know what happened to the popover when it fell from their good graces.
Making crêpes is not rocket science, thank goodness. Here's how I do it:
1. Take out a blender, fill it half full of milk, toss in two eggs (three if I'm feeling life is beautiful), and a pinch of salt.
2. Blast that nicely, then add probably two-ish cups of flour and maybe 1/4 cup of melted butter (or any vaguely similar amount I have laying around). Frappé that brew to smithereens, then add enough milk to fill the rest of the pitcher. Mix again.
3. Pour crêpe batter (the diameter of your face) into a heated, lightly oiled, giant-sized frying pan and distribute it around.
4. If you can't figure out the rest from there, then you really have no business making any sort of food that boasts an accent in its name (just kidding--don't ever let anyone tell you that!).
5. Allow the crêpe to cook on both sides and slide it onto a plate because now the fun begins. Whatever you like best in the world--wrap it up in that crêpe and it will taste ten times better. We prefer a light dusting of brown sugar and cinnamon. Magnifique!
By the way, I don't exactly make my crêpes paper thin the way Martha Stewart and her ilk stipulate. Why? Well first of all, I have a little grudge match going against anyone who tries to imply you must belong to an elite task force in order to zest an orange and secondly, if you were feeding three hungry revolutionaries, one of whom has proven highly skilled with the machete, would you waste time with paper thin?
I didn't think so.