February in Paris: The Return of Light (and Crêpes)

February in Paris always begins with flour on the counter. And somehow, also on the floor.

On February 2nd, we celebrate La Chandeleur (Candlemas). Officially, it is the Christian celebration when candles were blessed to symbolise Christ as the light of the world. Unofficially, it’s the moment we realise the days are stretching, even if winter is still very much present, and an entirely legitimate excuse to make crêpes.

For those unfamiliar, a crêpe is often described as a pancake, but thinner and wider. Crêpes come from Bretagne. Traditionally, there are sweet wheat crêpes and savoury buckwheat galettes. But in our family, we simplify life: one sweet wheat batter for everything. Savoury and sweet alike. Purists may object. The children couldn’t care less.

We always start with savoury crêpes. Dinner first. Dessert later. Structure is important.

The classic is simple and perfect: an egg, melting cheese, and ham, the yolk slightly runny, folded neatly inside the crêpe. But you can go further and fill them with whatever happens to be in your fridge, vegetables or protein: smoked salmon, shredded chicken, mushrooms, all sorts of cheese, even a light béchamel if you’re feeling ambitious. Everyone builds their own. There is no fixed recipe once the pan is hot. Some finish them in the oven for a few minutes so everything melts properly and crisps at the edges.

There’s something reassuring about beginning with the savoury ones. It gives the illusion of balance. Of control.

And then we move to dessert, and all discipline quietly disappears.

Chocolate–hazelnut spread is usually the winner, but the simplest version is just sugar folded inside.

And then, of course, there is the true classic: crêpe Suzette. A little dramatic. Butter and sugar melted together until lightly caramelised, fresh orange juice, orange zest, and a splash of orange liqueur such as Grand Marnier or Cointreau. The crêpes are folded into the sauce and gently warmed so they absorb everything.

If you’re feeling theatrical, you flambé them. The alcohol ignites briefly, the flames rise, the children gasp, the adults pretend they are perfectly calm while quietly checking the ceiling. The alcohol burns off. What remains is citrus, caramel, and warmth.

By the end of the evening, there is flour on the counter, batter on someone’s sleeve, and a stack of crêpes that was meant to last two days for goûter or breakfast but mysteriously will not survive the night.

February doesn’t promise warmth.
But it promises the return of light.
And, apparently, a lot of crêpes.

Here is a simple crêpe recipe we use at home

For about 12–15 thin crêpes:

• 250 g flour

• 3 eggs

• 500 ml milk

• 1 pinch of salt

• 1 tbsp sugar (for sweet crêpes)

• 1 tbsp melted butter or neutral oil

Mix the flour, salt (and sugar if using). Add the eggs, then gradually whisk in the milk until smooth. Finish with the melted butter. Let the batter rest if you have time, if not, it will still work perfectly.

Heat a lightly buttered pan and cook thin crêpes.

Personally, I always add a small splash of beer to the batter. Some prefer a dash of cognac or rum, others a little vanilla. Don’t worry, the alcohol evaporates while cooking. What remains is just flavour.

No rules. Just crêpes.