There is a food memory I have wanted to recreate since it first came to be in the early 1980s. Back when I was in junior high or high school, my mom and I used to make a point of going to a certain French (French-themed, more accurately) restaurant whenever we were up in one of the big cities. The details are a little fuzzy to me now. I can't recall whether it was Tulsa or Oklahoma City. I couldn't even remember the name, although mom says it was La Baguette. Was it a chain? It probably was. All I remember was we would get crepes when we were there, savory ones, not just the dessert kind. I have remembered crepes filled with a creamy chicken something-or-other for close to forty years, without ever trying to make it for myself. I always said I would, but I never did.
Today I found myself with chicken that needed to be cooked, milk that was one day past its sell-by date, and a surplus of eggs now that Costco is up to speed on them again. I have that reliable cassava-flour crepe recipe tucked in my back pocket for occasions such as this. It was time to make the memory. I set chicken up to slowly braise in stock and the spice mix that our Croatian exchange student left us years ago (there is just a little left). I then put my feet up and stopped fighting the progress of the cold that's going through the family.
By the time evening rolled around, I was tired and my stomach was cranky from an endless stream of cough drops and DayQuil, and I nearly backed out of cooking. I asked Mr S-P how hungry he was, and he said well, I didn't eat because you promised me you were making dinner. So I got up and finished what I started. I sautéed veggies, and made a chickpea flour roux to thicken the chicken filling. I made crepe batter from memory, leaving out the honey that goes in it when it's for breakfast. I was a bit dizzy from all the DayQuil, and Saoirse literally refused to leave my side, as if she knew I was barely hanging on. I was wiped out by the time the last crepe was getting flipped on the pan, and I wasn't sure I was going to be able to eat even one of them.
Then I sat down and tried it. Damn if l didn't get really close to that romantized memory. It was salty and savory and the crepe was soft and tender. I don't know why it took me decades to finally put this together, but I'm so glad I did, even if it came on a day when I couldn't appreciate it fully. Mr S-P said it was a whole lot of work to get to the flavor of chicken and dumplings, but he said that in a way that recognized how hard it was for me to complete the task, rather than trivializing the outcome.
After all she did to protect me while I cooked, Saoirse was just sure she was entitled to some of the spoils. I guess I'll give her the pot the chicken cooked in, and call us even.
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