Crepes — The Recipe Is the Constant

The light at fifteen hours. The body remembering what summer is. Two trauma cases stayed with me through the weekend. I cooked through them.

Lourdes is 74. She is in the kitchen. She is luminous. Angela came over Saturday with the kids. We cooked. We argued about pancit proportions — she uses more soy, I use more calamansi. We are both wrong, according to Lourdes.

I made adobo Sunday. The recipe is the recipe. The recipe is the constant.

The blog post on adobo got picked up by a Filipino-American newsletter. Traffic doubled for two days. The traffic was the surprise.

I read for forty minutes before sleep. The reading was the small surrender. The surrender was the rest.

Angela texted me a photo of the kids. I texted back a heart. The exchange took thirty seconds. The thirty seconds was the keeping.

The break room had cake Tuesday. Someone's birthday. We ate the cake. We did not ask whose birthday. The cake was the cake.

A blog reader sent me a photograph of her grandmother's wooden mortar and pestle, used since 1962. The photograph was holy. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

I made tea late at night. The tea was the small comfort. The comfort was the marker.

I drove the Glenn Highway out to Eklutna on Saturday. The mountains were the mountains. The lake was the lake. The body needed the open road. The open road did its work.

The light was good Saturday morning. I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched the inlet for forty minutes. The watching was the small therapy. The therapy was free.

Auntie Norma called Sunday afternoon. She is now seventy-nine. She wanted a recipe. I gave it to her. She wanted to know how my week was. I told her, briefly. She told me about her week. The exchange took eighteen minutes. The eighteen minutes was the keeping.

Lourdes called me twice this week. The first call was about a church event. The second was about a recipe variation she had remembered from her childhood. The remembering was the gift.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced a fundraiser for typhoon relief in Samar. I committed to making three hundred lumpia. The number is the number. The number has always been the number. Three hundred is what I make. The math has stopped surprising me.

I read three chapters of the novel Saturday night before sleep. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The nurse was being undone by her work. I knew the unraveling. I had lived the unraveling. I read on. The reading was the witnessing.

The salmon in the freezer is from August. Joseph's catch. The bag is labeled in his handwriting — "for Grace." I will use it next week.

Pete and I had a long phone conversation Tuesday. We talked about the family — his and mine. The talking was the keeping.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.

Auntie Norma called Sunday to ask if I had a recipe for a particular merienda from Iloilo. I did not. I said I would ask Lourdes. I asked Lourdes. Lourdes had it. The chain.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

I made coffee at six AM. The coffee was the start. The start was always the same.

Adobo is my constant, but not every week lets you rest in your own tradition — sometimes you reach for something simpler, a recipe so stripped down it asks almost nothing of you and gives back steadiness in return. After two trauma cases, a drive out to Eklutna, three hundred lumpia to plan, and an inbox full of reader photographs that made my chest ache in the best way, I found myself standing in the kitchen late in the week wanting something I could make quietly and without ceremony. Crepes are that recipe for me: a batter, a pan, patience — the same steps every time, the same reliable result, the marker that says the kitchen is ready and so, maybe, am I.

Crepes

Prep Time: 10 min (plus 30 min rest) | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 10 crepes

Ingredients

• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 2 large eggs
• 1/2 cup whole milk
• 1/2 cup water
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted, plus more for the pan
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon sugar (optional, for sweet crepes)

Instructions

1. Make the batter. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour and eggs until a thick paste forms. Gradually add the milk and water, whisking constantly until smooth and lump-free. Whisk in the melted butter, salt, and sugar if using.
2. Rest the batter. Cover the bowl and let the batter rest at room temperature for at least 30 minutes, or refrigerate for up to 24 hours. Resting relaxes the gluten and gives you more tender crepes.
3. Heat the pan. Place a 8- or 9-inch nonstick skillet or crepe pan over medium heat. Brush lightly with melted butter and let it get hot but not smoking.
4. Cook the crepes. Pour about 3 tablespoons of batter into the center of the pan. Immediately lift and tilt the pan in a circular motion to spread the batter into a thin, even round. Cook for 1 to 1 1/2 minutes, until the edges look set and lightly golden at the underside.
5. Flip and finish. Using a thin spatula, flip the crepe and cook for another 30 seconds. Transfer to a plate. Repeat with remaining batter, stacking crepes with a sheet of parchment between them to prevent sticking. Re-butter the pan every 2 to 3 crepes as needed.
6. Serve. Fill or top with your choice — jam, fresh fruit, whipped cream, calamansi curd, or simply a sprinkle of sugar and a squeeze of lemon.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 88 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 3g | Carbs: 12g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 75mg