blarg?

A sensible person might refer to these merely as “the crêpes I make for Arlene”, but that guy’s not making these crêpes; I am. So I’m going to make it sound like I’m letting you in on the accepted terminology for some culinary innovation rather than just telling you what I had for breakfast. Hence “Crêpês Arlene”.

I am fully aware that there is normally only one accented “E” in that word, but these are not your pedestrian, workingman’s routine crêpes; the additional accent circonflexe demarks an entirely elevated level of culinary and linguistic pretense; these crêpês are rightly be viewed as doubly foreign, doubly exotic (or should I say “exotique“?). In addition to being an excellent chef, I also hold a second-degree black belt in the fabrication of pretentious foreign-sounding nomenclature. Indeed, I made my second belt wholly from that fabric, and now it suspends my pantalons securely. And they don’t award that belt to people who can only deploy one accent at a time, no sir. That’s thé büllshît dès âmàtëürs, as they say at this lévêl.

And now, having concocted what I believe to be the best justification of a typo of all time, I am now obliged to leave it up there. Mêrde.

Anyway, crêpes; that part of the recipe is mostly cribbed from Bittman’s “How To Cook Everything”, with the addition of a tablespoon of melted butter and a tablespoon of vanilla extract. Keep them warm in the oven as you go.

The key here is the filling, which is two apples of your favorite type, halved, cored and sliced up; throw them into a pot with a tablespoon of butter, a tablespoon of salt, an ounce or so of maple syrup, and two ounces or so of good bourbon; put them on a medium heat and stir periodically, until they let off some water, soften up and reduce it right down until there’s barely any liquid left in the bottom of the pan. Start this before you start cooking the crêpes; if you’re a bit lucky, it will have reduced all the way down as you’re getting close to the last of the crêpes, and you’ll be able to serve them together. Otherwise, you can just put it all in a bowl and throw it in the oven until it’s time to assemble.

Serve with a few slices of some other fruit on the side.

It’s so good. Takes a little while, but it’s very worth it. It might sound sacrilegious to cook with good booze, but I should warn you that what comes out of this will only be as good as what goes in – if you’re trying this with Wild Turkey or Ol’ Kentucka Lead Paint Removah or whatever, you’ll end up with a breakfast that tastes like Wild Turkey or Ol’ Kentucka Lead Paint Removah, but if you use a smooth, quiet bourbon like Woodford Reserve, you’ll really think you’re on to something.