When I was little, I always wanted to be bigger.
I desperately wanted to be a grown up; to have my own house and my own car, and to own my own little business of sorts. I would spend hours setting up a little grocery store in my bedroom, using the two wooden steps leading down to my room as shelves to line my miniature boxes of Kellogg’s and skim milk.
I pilfered my mom’s purse for her old, expired credit cards and pretended to stroll the make-believe aisles, placing the cardboard items in my little basket. As soon as I collected what I deemed a reasonable haul, I would pile the groceries on my bed next to a plastic cash register, then hop over to the other side and greet my now-imaginary customer.
I had so many dreams back then: dreams of who I would marry, what I would do for a living, and what my kids’ names would be.
But that was just make-believe, and I don’t do that anymore. I buy real food now, and it isn’t as fun as it was back then. I have a real boyfriend, and, let’s face it, relationships aren’t quite as dreamy as Disney made them out to be.
In the back of mind, I still have those dreams. I imagine owning my own cafe, spending my days rolling croissants and combining the perfect amount of flour and baking powder. I dream of someday seeing my name on a bookshelf, as an author.
But the difference is, back then I had time to dream. I could imagine all the amazing places my life could take me, without having to actually do anything about it. It was my future, which back then, was a beautiful word.
The future scares me now. Because now’s the time I have to take all those dreams I had as a little girl and do something about them. I have to go outside of the comfort zone that is my imagination, and take risks. Risks aren’t what dreams are made of.
But what scares me more is not achieving my dreams, of being sub-par, average, and miserable. I don’t want to always be asking myself, “What if…”
What I liked so much about the idea of being a grown up was the choices I’d be able to make, and the life that I’d be able to make all on my own. But what I didn’t realize was that those choices aren’t so much fun to make, and that life isn’t so easy to build.
This recipe has absolutely nothing to do with my story. Rather, it is the culmination of what I love to do: bake and write. And for now, that’s all I really can do.
1 cup flour
pinch of salt
1 1/4 cup milk
3-4 tablespoons vegetable oil
3/4 cup milk
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 1/2 tablespoons sugar
4 egg yolks
For the crêpes, combine flour and salt in a medium bowl. Whisk in eggs and milk. Cover with plastic wrap and let cool in the fridge for a half hour.
Meanwhile, combine milk, cream and vanilla extract in a medium saucepan and heat until it just starts to bubble. In a separate bowl, whip together yolks and sugar. Pour the yolks into the hot milk mixture and cook until it reaches 185 degrees Fahrenheit. Remove from heat and let cool. Refrigerate custard until ready to serve.
Peel and slice bananas, nectarines, kiwis and strawberries. Place fruit in a large bowl, add maple syrup and stir. Let sit at room temperature.
Once crêpe batter has chilled, pour one tablespoon of oil in a skillet and heat. Pour a large spoonful of batter into frying pan and swish around until it coats the bottom. Cook over medium-high heat for 3-5 minutes, or until golden. Flip and cook the other side for a minute or two. Remove from skillet and place on a plate, then cover to keep warm. Add another tablespoon of oil to the skillet and continue cooking crêpes in the same fashion until batter is gone.
When ready to serve, lay crêpe on a plate and spoon custard on top. Add fruit and fold the crêpe into a triangle or horn-shape. Dust with icing sugar and add a dollap of custard on the side to garnish.