healthy crepes
When you have a day off (for some people it is usually the weekend, for myself and Boyfriend it is a random day) you could make something different for breakfast. I quite often make crepes. They are a healthy version with oats and wholemeal flour and they are yummy. They are also good for brunch or lunch. When we’ve got friends staying over it’s always a winner.
Healthy crepes
1/2 glass of plain flour
1/2 glass of wholemeal flour
2/3 glass of ready oats
glass of milk
2-3 eggs
1 spoon of olive oil
1/2 of lemon
maple syrup
1. Mix flour and ready oats in a bowl with olive oil, milk and eggs. If the mixture seems too thick, add some more milk. I never add sugar but you can if you want to. The batter can’t be too thick or too watery, it has to be somewhere in between.
2. In the meantime warm frying pan. It’s better if it is a non sticky frying pan or heavy one, and remember, it has to be hot when you start.
3. When the pan is hot and your batter smooth and creamy, using the ladle pour some onto the pan, tilt the pan in a circular motion so that the batter coats the surface evenly, leave until it sets, flip it and put it onto a plate on the side.
4. Repeat till you use all the crepes mixture.
5. Pre-warm plates in the oven, roll pancakes and arrange them on the plates, season with a bit of lemon juice and plenty of maple syrup. Serve with any fruit you’ve got and a bit of Greek yoghurt. This one tastes dreamy with strawberries, blueberries and bananas. You can sprinkle some cinnamon on top for a bit of a spicy flavour.
6. Enjoy!
About potatofaces
People who cook always go on about precious memories of childhood food one of their family members cooked, how daddy or nanny taught them the importance of cooking and eating together, and they still remember the comfort food they produced, amazing dishes whipped up by brilliant but humble cooks in their family.
Well, let me tell you, it was totally different in my family. My mother’s family – totally useless as cooks, who could survive on bread and butter, cooked once a week a terrible, terrible meal, usually some kind of meat piece with lots of brown sauce. Also, they were never bothered about eating together. That’s maybe why most of them were depressed and suicidal.
My mother followed that path and couldn’t really cook, and because I never wanted to eat meat, was warning me that ‘one day I will regret it’.
Probably because my mother wasn’t into cooking my sister at the age of 12 took over and started producing amazing dinners and cakes. Well, luckily for me and her we weren’t that genetically doomed because apparently my father’s family were gifted in that compartment. I can only presume it was genes, as my father divorced my mother when my sis and me were little and he strongly believed that he also divorced us. So, we were growing up never having any contact with him and as a result, couldn’t learn how to cook from him. That’s why I believe the love of cooking ( and the ability) was just passed to us genetically. My father, short time before he died, unexpectedly felt an urge to contact us. First he gave my sister a mandolin (that’s another thing I know about him- he played a few instruments). My sister refused to talk to him, he then decided to contact me and wanted to spend some time with me. I didn’t want to, as he was a stranger to me (I was 11 or 12 at the time) but as I was promised I could leave whenever I wanted to, I went to the village he lived in. There I tried his mother’s cooking everyone was raving about. It was simple and amazing, I wish they were as family dedicated as they were at baking, cooking, making pastries, wine, tinctures, you name it. But I ate, drunk, and got bored of strangers who were my family and demanded to be let to go home. One of the last things my father said to me was that I should start learning English because I might need it one day, which I ignored for another 16 years…
Because my sister was such a domestic goddess I wasn’t really bothered about cooking. I got hooked properly after my son was born and I wanted him to eat healthy and get everything he needed, especially that it wasn’t his choice to be a vegetarian (yet).
And that is how the story begins…
potatofaces 