Upon consuming a delicious sugar crepe in front of Notre Dame I pondered where the name came from? How many creperies were there in Paris? How many kinds of crepes are there? And what was that cool little gadget that so perfectly distributes that batter into a wheel on the skillet? I found myself diverging away from the beauty of the stained glass windows of Notre Dame and somehow diving into the delectable treat I was currently munching on. I glanced over towards my boyfriend, Mick, who was savoring every bite of his as well, and with a mouthful said, “Belgium may be known for its waffles, but France has certainly perfected the pancake.”
He was absolutely right; crepes technically were pancakes. When I thought pancake I automatically thought of Bisquik and the All-American stack of 4 pancakes with syrup dripping off of it at the local diner. These were quite different tasting and looking, but still in the same category by default. It seems crepe was derived from the Latin word “crispa” which means curled; implying all of the crepe fillings are perfectly wrapped up inside of the thin wheat flour pancake, which is referred to as one of France’s national dishes.
This was Mick’s first time to France, and Europe in general and he was blown away by the delicious Parisian cuisine. I may have been minimally jaded by French culture from my previous eight years of studying it, having tasted years worth of mock crepes from French teachers and “wanna-be” French cuisine restaurants this was finally the real deal. The first time I went to France was this past September and I tasted many a crepes then as well and was baffled by their deliciousness, but for whatever reason this time instead of just devouring the crepes I contemplated their existence in the French culture.
The previous day I had treated myself to a nutella and banana crepe and my boyfriend a ham and cheese crepe. What different fillings: one a substantial part to a meal, the other a nice little dessert or snack though both wrapped in the perfect curled, thin pancake shell. Evidently, I wasn’t the only person who recognized the difference. Crepes are broken down into two different categories: crepe sucres (sugary crepes) and glaettes (unsweetened, savory crepes). The dessert crepes are made with sugar in the batter, while the savory more substantial or omlette like crepes are made with buckwheat. I must have starred at the menu for at least five minutes reading all of the crepe options: ham, cheese, mushrooms, asparagus, spinach, onions, not to mention the sugar ones which included pineapple, nutella, sugar, whipped cream, powdered sugar, bananas, strawberries, cinnamon, or syrup.
Not only was I counting the types of crepes, but also after I made my decision and consumed my treat I counted the vast number of crepe stands within the city. Just between two metro stops I counted 17 and that is saying I didn’t miss any, which I most certainly did while taking in the sights and being pestered by those annoying men selling five Eiffel tower key chains for one euro. Who needs 5 Eiffel Tower key chains when they can buy a crepe with that one-euro, honestly? Then it dawned on me, crepes weren’t just served at creperies but in the finest of restaurants as well, so my 17 places where crepes were served in a one-block radius could probably be quadrupled.
Though I could find no definitive answer as to how many creperies there actually are in Paris, I double-checked my findings by Google mapping creperies in the Paris region and the entire map was jam-packed with little stars of locations of creperies. They are on every street corner, in every stand, and at every restaurant. I decided to run my only personal test to see if they were just as popular and delicious as my boyfriend and I had found. I asked my 63 huis mates in a facebook survey when you think of the word French food what is the next word that comes to mind- 54 answered crepes. The other responses were escargot, baguettes, and wine. I wouldn’t count wine as French food but it sure does go well with it. I rest my case that crepes are directly associated and at the top of the list of French foods. In fact, everyday there are 2 new French cuisine books published in France and just about everyone of them includes some sort of crepe involved recipe. That is a lot of recipes, and a lot of crepes!
After this test was run my housemate and good friend Justin and I researched a crepe recipe. Though we did not have the correct carbon steel crepe pan or crepe spatula (the one that resembles a mallet and so precisely spreads the batter evenly throughout the pan) we were rather successful with a non-stick pan on the stove and your old fashioned plastic spatula. We went for the dessert crepes and added sugar, and even cocoa to make the crepe have a chocolaty taste to it before even adding any filling. My one complaint would be the consistency of the crepe; it wasn’t as even as it would’ve been with the genuine crepe making tools. I hope to get my hands on an original French crepe spatula one day so I can make them even closer tasting to the authentic Parisian crepe when I am not lucky enough to be able to gallivant over to France for the weekend for a real crepe.
Though I adored the many sights and aesthetic appeal of Paris during my first visit in early September I was rather disappointed with the overall attitude of the Parisians. I have spoken French for close to eight years and was quite discouraged to find that every time I spoke French I was rudely spoken back to in English while they chuckled. It surely didn’t motivate me to continue my French speaking or be overly friendly to the French population in general.
I will admit, I loved France: the food, sights, and atmosphere so of course when my boyfriend, Mick, visited me I wanted to bring him there to spend a few days in the most romantic city in the world. I was a bit weary to see if the domineer of the Parisian population paralleled my last encounter. To my pleasant surprise, the French welcomed us with friendly “Bonjour’s!” and “s’il vous plait’s” all week.
From the first tour we went on in Montmartre, the Moulin rouge city right outside of Paris, where we stopped for a glass of wine the bartender offered us tips on where to visit on our trip and commended my attempt to tell him where I was from in French. I wasn’t scoffed at or rudely answered in English, but more so asked in French where I learned to speak French and how I liked the visit so far. In addition, he offered us a free map and a genuine “Au Revoir.”
As the trip continued the waiter at our first meal offered us free tap water and two baskets of bread, this may seem like nothing, but in Europe free water and bread is quite rare. She was quite smiley and seemed to while knowing we were tourists still treat us like locals.
Each hotel we visited had an even friendlier receptionist and even the woman cleaning the orange juice dispenser during the continental breakfast offered me a huge smile and friendly “Comment ca va?” as she poured me a glass of fresh orange juice.
Even the man at the Panini stand offered us a lovely French greeting in addition to a warm aperitif while we waited for our Panini to finish cooking. It was a fabulous deal a crepe, Panini, and drink all for 6 euro, pretty reasonable and perhaps one of the best meals we had while we were there. The generosity outpoured throughout the whole trip.
I appreciated the level of respect I was given which outweighed the level of mockery I felt on my first trip. The Parisian crowd most certainly redeemed themselves! I don’t know that I will necessarily be able to return to Paris this year, though in the future I most certainly would like to visit. I’ll be sure to brush up on my French phrases and pronunciation before I go in order to be able to appropriately address the Parisians when they kindly speak to me in French.
I drove to the game with T.O. one of the Dutch players both Duke and Justin had grown close to. It is such a rarity to be in a car in Belgium for us that I sat perched at the window the entire hour and a half ride while listening to the boys pre-game play list. The repetoir included everything from hard core rap to country western. T.O had studied abroad for a year in America, in Missouri to be exact, what a strange state to choose, but he absolutely adored his experience, hence the country western tunes.
“Hospitality, n. The virtue which induces us to feed and lodge certain persons who are not in need of food and lodging.” ~Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, 1911
Having the opportunity to travel to Spain and indulge in tapas, Ireland for Sheppard’s pie, and France for crepes has been delightful for my taste buds but the dining experience, which has blown me most away, was a dinner party thrown by a 17 year old Belgian high school student and his family.
I suppose I should start from the beginning, Justin and Duke, two of my fellow Loyola peers studying in Leuven joined the Leuven Lions Football team back in September. The house was and has been very supportive of this cultural experience. With time, they have become very close with their fellow teammates and have begun inviting them to our residence, one of the teammates being Sam. The Lions are a semi-pro football team that has players ranging in age from 17 to 30, Sam, also known as “mini,” is the youngest of the group.
When I say he loves Americans, America, anything that has to do with the US I am not in any way exaggerating, the kid has dollar bills framed in his room and had us bring him fruit loops because he saw it on “How I met your Mother,” his favorite American TV Show. I rest my case. A few weeks back I was cooking dinner and Sam came in with his bright smile and funny laugh conversing with Justin and that is when I met someone who has become a close friend. I was asking Justin if he had any suggestions for ski attire for my trip to Switzerland seeing as my snowsuit didn’t fit in my luggage, nor did I intend on bringing it in the first place. But, when this opportunity of skiing in the Swiss Alps arose, I of course jumped on it. Sam nonchalantly chimmed in “I got ya covered,” two days later a beautiful winter jacket, snow pants, ski socks, hat, and waterproof gloves were carefully delivered to my door step along with some homemade waffles he had prepared for myself and my roommate Erika to try. Talk about ask and you shall receive, or mention and you shall be showered with gifts.
Sam started hanging around the house more frequently coming over after to school to play football with the boys, play cards, grab a bite to eat, he became the little brother figure in our household. He mentioned having a few of us over for a “real” Belgian meal and to meet his family, a few of us soon turned into eleven of us at his front door. It was the first time any of us had been in a Belgian house other than our professors, his parents and sister seemed intimidated by the amount of us and our fast paced English-speaking conversations. Sam on the other hand greeted us with the biggest smile all dapper in a button up shirt and ready to give us the grand tour of the house. The last stop being the loft that was fully equipped with a foosball table, pinball game, and various other games and toys. Laughter roared from the loft as all of us re-winded back to the days when we would invite our friends over to play. It was so comfortable being in a home again.
Sam’s mom soon called us down for appetizers and drinks and dinner followed soon after. Eleven of us sat around their long dining room table and Flemish stew and fries were served. The highlight of the evening being the automatic salt shaker complete with flashlight and stainless steel, everyone has now added that to their must have household appliance list. Sam’s Dad, Luke, found that and our dinner conversation in general absolutely hilarious and that is when his parents really opened up. Luke was exactly like his son, outgoing, hysterical, and hospitable. He loves beer and was sure to pick out one for each of us that matched our preference and that we had never tried before.
Following dinner we all gathered around the tv where the boys were playing playstation, grand theft auto to be exact. Soon grand theft auto turned into sing song, a voice competition via play station. The microphone was passed around singing Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” in unison. It was the smallest thing, but for whatever reason that moment got me a little chocked up. Everyone was all smiles, hysterical laughing, while Luke video taped the eleven of us singing in their living room. It is one of those moments I will never forget, I felt so at home. Midnight rolled around and we finally decided it was time to say goodbye. Sam of course came back to our house with us to spend the night with the boys, his “big brothers.”
As we departed his parents hugged each of us, saying goodbye to every single one of us by name. Then Luke said, “Next month when you come over for dinner, you’re cooking us American food.” We laughed, but he wasn’t joking. The hospitality and sense of friendship and fun touched me. It was one of my favorite evenings in Belgium thus far, it will be hard to beat.
Chocolate completely filled the air in the Jacques chocolate factory, one of Belgium's most well-known chocolate producers and distributers. Each of the senses were stimulated beginning with smell, it was so potent that upon first whiff it almost stung your nose, but in a good way. After taking a few big breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth my lungs were filled with chocolate so much so that I almost tasted it.
After the tease of smell, we were greeted with a wafer drenched in warm chocolate from the fountain. The tour guide Kenith, who honestly did look like Willy Wonka and was dressed in a white lab coat and top hat had us all line up and on cue dip our plain wafers in the fountain which was producing hot chocolate flowing, of course I drenched my wafer. The chocolate was so smooth and still moist when it touched your tongue. I had always raved about the desserts at the Melting Pot Restaurant, but they have nothing on Jacques.
A tour of the factory followed where we could see the hundreds of conveyer belts which produced, molded, wrapped, and boxed the chocolate candies all you heard was the swishing of completed bars being dropped from the conveyer belt through the funnel and properly into the boxes to be shipped to their retrospective grocery stores. The longevity of the conveyer belts just covered in chocolate bars amazed me as the conveyed belt attendees strategically removed every 100th candy bar to be tested. So much so that they would take the 100th bar off break it into pieces and hand count how many hazelnuts for example were in that bar and if it didn't meet protocol that conveyer belt line was shutdown and rebooted to return back to the appropriate standards. It was incredible. As many machines as there were there, most of the work was still done by hand.
The gift shop was strategically placed at the end of the tour right outside of the factory where you had been surrounded by the smell of fresh chocolates all day and now just wanted to buy everything in sight. I purchased some milk chocolate with banana cream filling (it tasted like an ice cream sundae) and chocolate beer, which I have yet to taste but it seems like Belgium's two finest tastes beer and chocolate combined has to be delectable. The broken chocolates that had been strategically counted or removed for tiny defects were sold for incredibly cheap prices in huge bags- it was a steal. Almost everyone bought two or three of those discounted bags to munch on or use as shavings to melt in hot milk to make homemade Belgian hot cocoa.
It was funny the moment we all departed the factory our noses had been so accustomed to the divine smell of chocolate that the outdoor air of Eupen, Belgium (one of the only German speaking towns in Belgium) seemed to smell a lot more unpleasant then when we had entered.
