The real dessert by the River Seine

Crêpe Suzette was the best, even when watered-down

When we were growing up on a tea plantation in the Nilgiris, the one thing we really, really looked forward to every day was dessert. Moreover, we were in boarding school most of the year, which meant that Food, with a capital F, was the most important thing in the world. So at home, we were treated to a plethora of variety as far as the post-dinner department was concerned by either the butler or my mother: mousses, pies, meringue, homemade vanilla cream made out of pure cream, etc. In fact, one of our butlers used to make it especially interesting by keeping dessert a secret. The excitement on the table would be almost palpable until he arrived after we had consumed the main meal and, with a flourish, voila, presented the dessert-of-the-day to us. Maybe it was my boarding school palate, but he was Cordon Bleu chef material to me. 

One of the most intriguing, yet delicious, desserts that my mother would make was crêpe Suzette, the spelling and pronunciation of which I only figured out many years later when I chose to study French. 

But what had brought this dessert to the top of my otherwise poor memory was watching the Paris Olympics. Suddenly, crêpe Suzette came to mind. I remembered my only visit to Paris, which had been more than enough for the fascinating city to jump right up to the top of my list of favourite cities. My local hostess had insisted on taking me to a famous old crêperie on Ile St Louis on the River Seine. At the crêperie, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that every single course of the entire meal had the crêpe as its base, with fillings that varied from ham and cheese to even eggs. And what did the meal end with? Crêpe Suzette, of course. 

Apparently there are different views on how this particular crêpe acquired its rather exotic name. My hostess said that one theory was that a chef who had ruined a traditional dessert and had no time to make another one served the ‘ruined’ dessert to the king, who loved it so much that it was named after a pretty French girl who was present at that particular meal. Another theory was that it was named after a famous actress whose stage name was Suzette. Whatever the real reason, it tasted different. It was very tasty but definitely different from what I’d had until then at home. And then it hit me. No Grand Marnier (supposed to have a quarter of a cup), no cognac! We had been served the watered-down version earlier because ‘children cannot have alcohol!’ And in Paris, I finally had had the real thing. What did I do? I called my mother up to complain!

(Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.)