Grandmother Rubicon Teaches Madeline to Make Crepes
Never use an electric blender, Madeline. It is gauche,
despite what Julia Child says. I met her once.
A great hulking thing of a woman. She could cook,
but that was all. A talent every woman must possess
even if she never intends to use it.
Now, add the liquid a spoonful at a time. It was years ago
at René’s Gala Français. She towered over all the men,
didn’t even wear a proper gown, yet she had to be invited
because of her celebrity. Everyone fussed over her,
including your grandfather.
The batter must be refrigerated at least two hours for tender,
thin crepes. Doctor will be here at ten o’clock to bleach
your freckles. Don’t dawdle, Madeline. You see how well
it worked for me—nothing could have saved
her complexion, though.
The crepe’s second side is a spotty brown—this nonpublic
aspect must always be kept underneath. Not a feminine
bone in her body, and that ridiculous falsetto voice competing
with the orchestra. He made such a fool of himself I banished
him from my table for six months.
Kim Parsons, of West Allis, pursues what gives her joy—writing poetry and prose, canoeing and hiking, whole-food cooking, and new interests yet to be discovered—and welcomes and learns from whatever life brings. Her writing has appeared in Canoe and Kayak magazine and Masquerades & Misdemeanors.