Revenge is a dish best served.....Flambéed!
What do Pam Grier, Charles Bronson and Crêpes Suzette have in common? You're about to find out!
Folks, it’s the dead of winter and I am stewing, and not just in my kitchen. Like many of you I feel trapped in a macabre funhouse, flinging open door after wicked door to a new horror rather than an exit. I am scared. I am lonely. I have a headache. I feel that I might also be getting a toothache, but I cannot afford a trip to the tiny mouth bone emporium of bankruptcy, so I am just chewing on my left side. I have a primal urge to smash things. I am doing a good amount of public crying, more than usual, which was already plenty. My heart hurts for so many people who are suffering so terribly, and so senselessly, and also for children I see on the street, smiling and blissfully unaware of the world they are set to inherit. I feel as though I am filled with sharp rocks and gray dust. But for better or worse, my core is on fire, and it is keeping that stew going, and I am going to let that shit feed me.
In trying times we reach for creature comforts, and my two fluffiest warm blankets are cooking and watching movies. I say cooking rather than eating, because for me it is the process of making food that soothes me the most, as sometimes when I feel uneasy I lose my appetite. The act of stepping into my kitchen and disconnecting from my troubles for a bit gives me the space to process my feelings in a more proactive way than say, bashing my head against the wall until I pass out. Movies give me a similar feeling of relief, with an added bonus of being taken to any fantasy of my choosing for a few precious hours. As important as it is to tune in when life hits the skids, so too is it imperative to find ways to tune out and give our brains and bodies rest and rejuvenation whenever possible. This is where the food and film ministration comes in. Despite all my rage, I am still just making some crêpes…..
When I am feeling powerless my go to is watching revenge films. I find they really help me work out the knots in my neck. As I sit here and observe the world burning from a small computer that I hold in the palm of my sweaty hand, I feel a preternatural compulsion to watch them on repeat in an effort to scratch some kind of justice itch that I know I will not be able to reach in real life— not right now at least— but give me another three shots of Pam Grier and I might just get there by morning. In pairing this week's film with a recipe, I started thinking about what foods match the magma-esque temperature of my core. I thought first of spicy foods, then sharp foods and even poisonous foods like nightshades, and then, in a flash, it hit me; flambé!! Baked Alaska is amazing, but it seemed a tad impractical. Cherries are not in season, which made cherries jubilee less exciting, and bananas foster is a very tasty treat, but it’s so simple that I felt like a recipe from me would have been unnecessary. But let us not forget our girl Suzette….. Crêpes Suzette that is! Suze— as I have come to know her— is the sexy pile of tender French style crêpes, simmered in a velvety, tangy, sweet and savory orange butter sauce, doused with booze and set ablaze! This recipe got me fired up creatively (pun intended, sorreee!) AND it was a perfect pairing for my number one revenge flick! Maybe revenge is a dish best served hot after all?!? Let’s find out shall we?
I am not now, nor have I ever been much of a grudge holder or one for vengeful retaliation. Quite the opposite actually, I will basically forgive anyone (except myself) for anything, and while this doesn’t make for a captivating on screen plot, it allows for a more peaceful life than having enemies and finding countless ways to drop an anvil on their heads. This is where Charles Bronson comes in. He will drop an anvil on a head because he has nothing left to live for aside from revenge. Charles Bronson doesn’t offer up apologies, and he does not accept yours. Someone fucks around with Bronson, and they find out……with a bazooka. I will never kill someone with a bazooka. I hate guns and bazookas, but I love Charles Bronson (particularly as Paul Kersey in the Death Wish series, and most of all in Death Wish 3), and that is because he will take care of my mean ex-boyfriend, the tech bros who are responsible for making a cappuccino cost ten American dollars and rent so high people have to live on the street, my ninth grade math teacher, and every evil politician currently destroying the planet and its inhabitants…. with a bazooka. Not really, don’t call the fuzz on the ghost of Charlie B, but the catharsis that I feel from watching an on screen vigilante take care of the bad guy is deeply satisfying to me in these times when lava flows like wine. When Luigi came on the scene many of us had a deeply emotional reaction to his act of vigilante justice because it tapped into exactly what revenge films do— there is a bad guy doing bad things to good people, and there is someone willing to take matters into their own hands and right the wrong— and maybe then this trash fire will turn into a bonfire and we can all make s’mores and have healthcare. In eliminating one bad guy lies the hope that bad guys everywhere might dissolve into the ether. He was the people's Bronson, and we were able to interact with his actions the same as we are with our favorite fictional heroes. But in real life, blood spilled is body temperature, and there are consequences both moral and legal to these actions, even if we feel in our hearts they are justified. And sadly, just like in the movies, there are a million bad guys laying in wait to keep the franchise going.
Over the past few months I have rewatched many of my favorite revenge films, and made quart upon quart of soup, hundreds of holiday cookies, and enough lasagnas to build a footbridge from here to Bologna, and it has helped to have activities that keep me both grounded and free to explore the far corners of my imagination in tandem. The night after the election I drank tequila on the rocks, ate Bjorn Corn, and watched Pam Grier bring some very serious hurt upon the corrupt, sleazy men who aimed to destroy her, her family and community, in the 1973 vigilante justice film, Coffy. In my opinion Pam Grier the greatest female action hero of all time, and watching her kick ass and take names is cinematic Xanax in times like there— crisis times. Sure there are wildfires in the ocean and half of our paychecks go towards funding genocide, but Pam will take care of it with her false seductions, perfect body and sawn-off-shotgun, if only for ninety minutes, and I am forever grateful to her for that reprieve. I went on a western revenge kick with Sergio Leoni’s 1968 masterpiece, Once Upon A Time In The West, and Clint Eastwood’s 1992 classic, Unforgiven, both of which offer up a slow burn, but very satisfying implementation of justice. Nothing quite like seeing Charles Bronson shove that harmonica in Henry Fonda’s mouth, and watching him realize he had been messing with the wrong sensitive musician all along. I watched V For Vendetta, which was V for validating, but kind of made me more upset, as the dystopian future doesn’t feel as far off as it did when I first saw it in 2005. For a bit of a palate cleanser I made a big pot of beans with long cooked smushy veggies and fat chunks of crispy guanciale on top. I ate a bowl on my couch topped with a snowstorm of parmigiano, did a double feature of Mean Girls and The First Wives Club, and gave the rest away to my neighbors and friends, hoping they too might find a little comfort in a bowl of something warm. Then came January and it was time for Carrie, because my anger had reached a fever pitch, and Travolta and his high school cronies made perfect stand in’s for all the ghouls who brought us to this real life adaptation of a cursed prom. No, I did not eat blood sausage, although I considered it, but I did practice my telepathy after a few glasses of red wine. Somehow Gracie Mansion is still intact. I had a blast watching and cooking, but there was something missing— I needed to flambée my worries away! I was ready to soak it all in cognac and put a match to it, but first I needed The Basterds.
(I made you guys a revenge film supercut! Please enjoy, sound ON! Tunes c/o Sleigh Bells )
My favorite revenge film of all time is Quentin Tarantino’s 2009 genre bending WWII epic, Inglourious Basterds. No matter how many films I watched in my quest for voyeuristic vengeance, only Inglourious Basterds could sync to the tempo of my mood, because what was churning within me was not simply a thirst for blood, but also a feeling of irresolution about it. The film's revisionist history of WWII allows us to get as close as possible to believing it could have ended differently, and that by that logic so could anything, like the terrible news we see on those handheld computers, or maybe even our own more personal tragedies and disappointments, and this is quite a powerful concept. On the face of it, Basterds is an ultra violent, highly stylized, Spaghetti Western influenced WWII epic that over performs at giving viewers the ultimate ringside seat to payback, and watching from this seat feels pretty great. But step back a bit and it becomes clear that it is a film about vengeance as an Ouroboros, and while this moral reality check can feel like a buzzkill, it is what makes this film, and the dialogue about revenge and our perceived entitlement to it, so important.
The film opens with– Chapter One: Once Upon A Time In Nazi -Occupied France– where we are first introduced to our antagonist, Hans Landa (Christoph Walz)— a smug, snarky, sadistically evil SS detective— as he raids the home of a French dairy farmer and his three daughters who are hiding their Jewish neighbors in their basement. Landa knows this, and after an almost unbearably long and stressful conversation over a glass of the farmer's milk (an easter egg for later in the film), he waves in his Nazi goons to shoot up the floor and kill the hiding family. Shosanna, the only survivor of the massacre, bolts out of the basement and as she runs for her life to the sound of Ennio Morricone’s The Mountain, Landa stands in the doorway to the destroyed home watching her disappear into the French Countryside, in a beautiful, wide shot that is an homage to both Once Upon a Time In The West and John Ford’s The Searchers.
Next we are introduced to the second prong of the films duel storyline when we meet Brad Pitt’s Lt. Aldo Raine (the name is a reference to actor Aldo Ray, and William DeVane’s character in one of the greatest revenge films of all time, 1977’s Rolling Thunder) and his Nazi scalping, bat wielding, Jewish-American infantry, known to the enemy simply as The Basterds. Men on a mission films, like Basterds influences The Dirty Dozen, The Guns of Navarone, and the original 1978 Inglorious Bastards, are about ragtag groups of misfits with nothing left to lose, trying with all their might to die with valor. These types of storylines, much like westerns, were historically used to capture a sense of national pride and American heroism. While we do become quite fond of The Bastards, Tarantino challenges us to do so, as they are vicious and unconventional in their methods. We are naturally on their side, even as we see them remove scalps and bash in skulls with a baseball bat, because the scalps and heads belong to Nazis, and Nazis are bad, and seeing them suffer feels entirely justifiable, pleasurable even. But there is also a sadness here, especially as we watch head smashing specialist, The Bear Jew (Eli Roth), become completely lost in frenzied ranting in the postdrome of clubbing a Nazi POW to death. Yes, we can say the Nazi deserved it, and yes, we can laugh at the things that are funny within the scene, but in the few seconds that follow this killing we also observe the the tar thick trauma of the Holocaust, the tragedy of being a soldier at war, and the deep seeded pain that fuels ones need for revenge. From the earliest moments of the film we are presented with red line after red line and asked if we wish to cross, and because of the precision in which Tarantino lays out the story, we follow The Basterds in their quest for lex talionis, willingly.
***SPOILERS AHEAD***
In the second act we see Shosanna, who has changed her name to Emmanuelle Mimieux, has become the owner of a small, beautiful cinema in the center of Paris. Much to her chagrin, she has also becomes unwillingly involved with a Nazi “war hero” turned German propaganda film star. She uses this unwanted courtship as an opportunity to devise a revenge plot against the Nazis— unaware that the Basterds, with the help of British intelligence (headed up by a perfectly cast Mike Myers) are forming their own plan— also centering around her beloved theater. As the cat and mouse storyline between Shoshana and Landa builds to a strenuous crescendo over a glass of milk and an apple strudel (left to look like a house, inferring he knows her true identity) we question who will kill who first, and how. Simultaneously the Basterds plans for a coup are becoming more and more complicated as a rendezvous with German actress/ British spy Bridget Von Hammersmark (Dianne Kruger) ends in a bloody shootout between crucially important members of the Basterds, undercover British operative Archie Hicox, (played by an outrageously hot Michael Fassbender) and a basement tavern full of schnapps drunk Nazis. I have seen this film over twenty times, and yet each time I watch it I find myself filled with a realistic hope that this scene will somehow turn out differently, and yet it never does. What does transpire on the screen is one of the most tense fifteen minutes captured on celluloid.
The air in this film is butter thick with tension; a mood that is articulated with stunning set pieces, razor sharp dialogue and expert camera work from cinematographer and frequent Tarantino collaborator, Robert Richardson. There are wide shots in small spaces, making them feel all the more claustrophobic. We see powerful characters shot from below to emphasize their commanding presences and vulnerable characters shot from above to convey their fragility. Tarantino uses humor to provide traction for our spinning nerves, and just enough violence to keep us hungry for our rich, decadent, flaming dessert. If you are hungry for vengeance, the final act of Basterds will fill you right up. The two plots to kill Hitler converge at the theater, and we bear witness to the unfolding of their efforts in a fiery, bloody act of ruthless retribution, virtually unmatched in cinema history. In Shosanna’s beautiful theater, under the ornate crystal chandeliers and rich velvet drapery that have become her safe haven and oasis, we see Hitler, Goebbels, and hundreds of Nazis along with their dates and supporters, get mowed down by machine gun fire, and burn to their deaths to the sound of her maniacal laughter.
In what feels like an impossible to top climax, we once again meet up with Lt. Raine, who in the films final act was separated from his men by Landa, as he had decided to double cross his Nazi bosses and craft a deal with the United States government to not intervene with the Basterds plans in exchange for immunity, the medal of honor and a beach house on Nantucket Island. Everything seems to be coming up Hans, but what he had not planned for is Brad Pitt’s unrelenting commitment to justice. Lt. Raine’s quest was not one of vengeance, as it was for Shosanna and his fellow Basterds, but rather one of justice. He has a large scar around his neck, indicating that he had at one point been the survivor of a lynching attempt. Tarantino has never explained this, telling Charlie Rose in a 2009 interview that he wants the audience to form their own theories. Mine is that Lt. Raine, who is from the American South, was equally invested in justice at home, and was punished for his involvement in civil rights efforts. This says to me that he is a man who lives his life by a code, and those who step outside this code are no longer human beings to him, rather enemies that must be eliminated. People are motivated by different forces, and while Raine’s may not have been revenge, he made revenge possible for millions of people within this alternative reality, and those watching it on the screen. After leaving Paris Lt. Raine and PFC Utivich (B.J. Novak) are meant to switch roles from prisoners to taking command of Landa and his radio operator once they cross into allied territory. Once the cuffs have been switched, Lt. Raine shoots the radio operator, and much to the surprise of Landa— who thought he was en route to a new life in Nantucket, cracking open lobsters and guzzling Gewürtzraminer— carves the Basterds signature calling card, a giant swastika, into Landas stupid fucking Nazi forehead, ensuring that even when he takes his uniform off, everyone will know exactly who he is and what he has done. Raine and Ultivich stand in a POV shot above the newly engraved Landa, and in the final line of the film Raine says,“I think this just might be my masterpiece”. Indeed.
The late, great film critic for The New Yorker, Pauline Kael, in her review of 1963’s Bonnie and Clyde made the following analysis-
‘Bonnie and Clyde’ keeps the audience in a kind of eager, nervous imbalance- it holds our attention by throwing our disbelief back in our faces. To be put on is to be put on the spot, put on the stage, made the stooge in a comedy act. People in the audience at Bonnie and Clyde are laughing, demonstrating that they are not stooges- that they appreciate the joke- when they catch the first bullet right in the face. The movie keeps them off balance to the end…Instead of the movie spoof, which tells the audience that it doesn’t need to feel or care, that it’s all just in fun, that “we were only kidding”, Bonnie and Clyde disrupts us with ‘and you thought we were only kidding’.
I believe the same can be said of Basterds, for as much as the film charms and thrills us with it’s over the top, at times near comical violence, we are left in the aftermath to explore the real world practice of revenge and how we chose to engage with it.
I am the granddaughter of a Holocaust survivor, but you do not have to have this trauma in your bloodline to feel the rush of vindication from the imaginary slaughter of Hitler and his henchmen in such a fantastical way, especially now as we are seeing fascism and Nazi iconography tragically coming back into fashion. We are invited to watch this film in the same feral way we might a porno. As Eli Roth’s character unloads hundreds of machine gun rounds into Hitlers face (a nod Tony Montana in Scarface)— in an overkill so extreme that it almost loses seriousness— we as viewers are right there in the opera box, losing our own minds imagining what this level of righteous payback might feel like. I think it is Tarantino’s intention to bring us to a cinematic orgasm during this scene, and if it is revenge you seek, cum you will. But as the Nazi propaganda film switches to Shosanna’s message to Hitler, we the audience switch from victim to the executioner, and realize we have been watching our own gory propaganda film all along. This movie has an onion-like quality in the amount of layers and contradicting concepts it asks us to peel apart while still managing to see straight. In a recent rewatch I was struck with the tragic and chilling reality of the genocide in Gaza inflicted by Israel and it’s army, and the bitter irony there within— the Ouroboros of vengeance— and it broke my heart. I did not take away from this film that killing Nazis was wrong, and I am quite sure that was not the intended messaging, but watching outrageous violence on screen and embracing it in real life are different, and no matter how thrilling, the average person does not wish to become a Basterd— but we sure as fuck like to watch them do our bidding for us—and that is the power of cinema. For a few thrilling moments it puts the power of change in the palms of our hands, and then before we can even fasten our grip around it, it asks us if we are sure we really wish to hold it, and that is an emotional experience I have never had in another film, and one that has stuck with me over the past fifteen years since I first saw it in the theater. Tarantino takes a huge swing with this subject matter, and the result in my opinion, is both a masterpiece and a masterclass in the revenge genre as told through a seamless blending of subgenres. We all have within us a primal human desire to shift painful experiences which feel unmovable; that after twenty watches the scene could actually end differently. To give that possibility of motion to people– if only for a flash– is a heavy question, an electrifying fantasy, and an immeasurable gift all at once. It gives us gruesome violence wrapped in satire so sweet that we can eat it up like handfuls of M&M’s— lost in the delight of the binge— until our bellies start to hurt, but that’s the point, and it’s a good thing they do— it’s our humanity that is grumbling.
I had long thought of Inglorious Basterds as one of the very few “revenge gone right” films. Oftentimes a revenge movie is purely for fun, so we don’t really contemplate the characters' relationship to the fulfillment of vengeance or who they will be in the aftermath. We also see a lot of films highlighting “revenge gone wrong” ( my favorite of which is 2014’s Wild Tales) and whether the characters end up in peril, or better for their harrowing experience, the messaging is clear; revenge don’t pay. I think multiple things can be true while analyzing Basterds. It would have been poetic justice for Hitler to be killed while watching his own heinous propaganda film by a Jewish woman whose entire family (along with millions of other innocent people) were brutally murdered at his hand– and we can feel uncomfortable at how quickly and effortlessly our own brutal instincts can take over and how we chose to justify them. Personally I wish more than anything that we lived in a world that this expertly made film never had to be made at all, because there never was a Hitler, world wars, or crimes against humanity of any kind in any place, and that people did not have barbaric, greedy inclinations to colonize, conquer and ethnically cleanse. I wish the powers that be and the perilous nature of capitalism hadn’t messed up this beautiful world to the point where we have to watch Denzel or Keanu save the day over and over just to get some goddamn sleep. But these sad truths remain true, and while they do, we are left to decide how we chose to live in the face of it all. How do we seek justice in an unjust world?
Basterds explores the dichotomy of justice and revenge, and that is what I have also been aiming to unpack in my exploration of revenge films and how I interact with them. I enjoy watching them as a means of processing my rage, but in my own life I choose justice. Revenge is not a one to one, you lose something in it, and maybe some times for some people that exchange is worth it. When I ask myself what a tangible means of justice looks like, I keep coming back to love as my personal form of retaliation. I recognize that I speak from a point of privilege in being able to mostly have had the choice of wether or not to use violence as a means to survive, as for many people this is not an option. I also realize that violence has been a necessity of oppressed people since the dawn of time, and without it many a crucial revolutions would never have come to be. There is an unfortunate need for it in the struggle of human life. When I speak of love, I am speaking so of it in more of a person to person sense. Do I key the car of someone who cheated on me or do I take a bath— which one ultimately serves me better? But love is also at the core of revolution, in the world as well as in our own hearts. Love is why we protest and fight. It is why we demand a better world for ourselves and each other. Love is letting go, over and over and over, and also holding on to what’s important. It is a journey, and there is no map, but there is a flashlight and that is your heart, so don’t let it go out if you can help it.
One origin story for crepes Suzette is that of a fourteen year old French assistant waiter at the Cafe de Paris in 1895, named Henri Charpentier. In his autobiography, Life a la Henri, he details how this now famous dish of thin crepes simmered in a rich orange sauce and then flambeed came to be.
It was quite by accident as I worked in front of a chafing dish that the cordials caught fire. I thought it was ruined. The Prince and his friends were waiting. How could I begin all over? I tasted it. It was, I thought, the most delicious medley of sweet flavors I had ever tasted. I still think so. That accident of the flame was precisely what was needed to bring all those various instruments into one harmony of taste ...
We all have fire burning within us at any given time throughout a life, and if used correctly, it can be what is needed to bring the perfect amount of balanced sweetness. May we, for as long as we can, find a way to include celebration of our lives and the things that we love and cherish as a part of our redress. May our resistance not exclude our own delight and passion for being alive whenever possible. May we demand justice and joy in tandem, for ourselves and each other. May our heroes inspire us to be strong, but also smart. May we live well, love well, and eat well.
With Valentine’s Day just around the corner, perhaps this is a time to use our ire to make something sweet and special. This is a recipe for crêpes at the end of an essay about Hollywood movies, and it is surely not a panacea for all that ails us personally, or this troubled world, but it is a prescription for a little treat, and we need and deserve those too. No type of pancake, thin or thick, is delicious enough to dismantle systems of oppression, or bring back those we have loved and tragically lost, and I would never dare suggest such, but I felt inspired to match my feelings to my appetite this week, and if you do too, I hope you enjoy this recipe. Plus, let’s be honest, won’t it feel pretty great right about now to light something orange on fire?!?!!
REVENGE WATCHLIST
(for the full recommendations list please visit my Letterboxed page, ZahraRae)
Rolling Thunder-1977
Coffy- 1973
The Crow- 1994
Kill Bill: Vol 2- 2004
Oldboy- 2003
9-5- 1980
Straw Dogs- 1971
Wild Tales- 2014
Get Carter- 1971
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri - 2017
CRÊPES SUZZETTE w/ CRISPY PROSCIUTTO
Serves 4
I’m going to be honest with you here— I may have watched a lot of revenge films, but I had never, until very recently made Crêpes Suzette. I know what you're thinking; I can't believe I just read an eight page essay on revenge just to learn how to make Crêpes Suzette from an amateur! Ok, so Suze and I had never met, but I have made hundreds of crêpes in my life, and I did a lot of testing to get this recipe just right, and put my own little stamp on it. This recipe is delightful, and perfectly highlights one of the only produce wins we get here on the East Coast in the dead of winter, which is tangy, juicy citrus! I used Sumo mandarins here, but if you can’t find or don’t want to splurge on them, use whatever orange you prefer. I have added thin wafers of oven crisped prosciutto, which I think takes the whole thing to another wild and whimsical level, but if you don’t dig pork, or want to serve a meat free dessert, it is still totally fabulous without it.
I know lighting fires inside the house can feel scary, but the small amount of booze doesn’t make for a huge flame, and it goes out very quickly. Use a bbq lighter, and don’t wear super loose hanging clothing that could get in the way and you will be totally fine:) The alcohol burns off completely, so your kids won’t get drunk, but if you or your fellow crêpe fans want to avoid it all together, it will still be very delicious. I would recommend substituting the flambée with a quick trip under the broiler to achieve a similar effect.
INGREDIENTS
Crêpes
(Makes about 12 thin crêpes. Sometimes I just double the recipe, as often times the first few are duds and best for pre meal nibbling)
2 large eggs (room temp)
1 cup all purpose flour
¾ cup whole milk (room temp)
½ cup water (room temp)
3 tablespoons melted butter plus about 4 tablespoons more for the frying pan ( I use salted. If using unsalted, double salt in recipe)
½ teaspoon kosher salt
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon grated nutmeg
Zest of 1 lemon
Sauce
1 Sumo mandarin/ roughly one ¼ cups (or any orange you like) zested, peeled and diced into roughly ½ pieces. Save a small amount of zest for garnishing
4 tablespoons salted butter ( add half teaspoon extra salt if using unsalted butter)
⅓ cup granulated sugar
½ teaspoon kosher salt
Juice of 1 lemon
3 tablespoons cognac or whiskey*
1 tablespoon orange liqueur (optional)*
8 slices prosciutto
INSTRUCTIONS
1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Place prosciutto on a lined baking sheet ( don’t overlap) and bake for 9-12 minutes or until crisp. Set aside on baking sheet until crepes are ready to go
2. Melt three tablespoons butter and allow to cool five minutes to avoid coagulation
3. In a mixing bowl, beat eggs and whisk in milk, water, vanilla, melted butter and lemon zest and sugar, and set aside
4. In a separate mixing bowl, sift together flour and salt
5. Slowly mix the wet into the dry ingredients to avoid clumping. Batter should be the consistency of heavy cream. You can also make this in the blender or food processor
6. Cover your cute little crêpe batter and allow it to rest in the fridge for at least two hours, and up to twenty-four. If the batter separates during cooling, just give it another mix before cooking
7. Place an 8 inch skillet over medium-high meat and grease with a very generous amount of butter. Add about ¼ cup of batter to the hot pan and swirl it around evenly to coat as much of the pan as possible. Cook the crêpes for about 1 minute or until they are set and ready to flip. Cook for another 30 seconds on the opposite side and transfer on to a plate. Repeat until all the crepes are cooked, re-greasing the pan between each crepe
8. Once all the crêpes are cooked, using the same pan (or a fresh one if you want), melt 4 tablespoons butter with ⅓ cup granulated sugar and simmer over medium-high heat for 2-3 minutes until bubbling and melted. Reduce heat to medium and add oranges, orange zest, lemon juice and salt and simmer for another 2-3 minutes, stirring occasionally. You should see the sauce begin to come together and thicken. Remove from heat and strain well over a bowl, pressing the pulp into the strainer to strain out as much of the delicious sauce as possible. Discard pulp and put sauce back into the pan. Bring to a simmer over medium heat. Fold the crêpes in half and then in half again, into triangle shapes, and arrange slightly overlapping in a circle around the pan. Allow your little crêpes to simmer away in the sweet orange sauce for 2-3 minutes
9. Turn off heat and sprinkle the reserved 3 tablespoons of sugar over the crêpes. Next, drizzle alcohol over the crêpes. Carefully, with a long stick lighter, set a flame right up to the crêpe pan. The booze should catch fire immediately. Don’t worry, this is a very small flame. If omitting alcohol, simply finish with sugar and pop under the broiler for 1-2 minutes
10. To garnish, wedge pieces of crispy prosciutto between crêpes. Finish with a little zest of orange or lemon and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil and voila!! If serving for dessert, I recommend serving with a big scoop of vanilla or pistachio ice cream!
*NOTES
Classically this recipe calls for Grand Marnier and cognac. I tested it using both, using only cognac, and using bourbon. Honestly, unless you already have Grand Marnier or another orange liqueur at home, or really want to make this the traditional way, I think you can skip it. I cannot in good conscience tell you to go out and buy a $40 bottle of Grand Marnier so you can use one tablespoon of it for this recipe. Same with cognac. It was great in this recipe, and if you are looking to make this super traditionally, go for it. If you might use cognac in your cooking or for a cocktail, or like to have fun booze options in the house, even better! But if you have a little whiskey at home already and don’t want to buy cognac, the whiskey will be more than fine here.