How I learned to make crêpes

My mother origins are from Bretagne my father’s from Normandie.

Like most children in France, I grew up with crêpes as part of everyday life—on Sundays, or simply for le goûter after school.

Usually they were plain or just sprinkled with sugar. We could also add chocolate—but the crêpe itself was always the star. Thin, warm, lightly golden, eaten standing in the kitchen or sitting at the table, still steaming.

Even now, my parents enjoy these simple treats for dessert or an afternoon craving.

Brittany is the cradle of crêpes. That is where the tradition truly comes from.

Authenticity, for me, isn’t about being rigid or nostalgic—it’s about respect. Respect for the ingredients, for the technique, and for the memories attached to them.

Some of my strongest childhood memories are tied to the smell of crêpes on a Sunday afternoon. Butter warming, batter cooking, sugar melting slightly on the surface. That smell meant comfort, family, and time slowing down.

That is exactly what I try to recreate today—not just a crêpe, but a feeling.

Who knew that I would be making crêpes downtown Granbury in Texas…