APRIL25,2017

GalettebyMonsieurAlain

A trip to Paris inspires a deep dive into the art of the ultra-thin
French pancake.
 t was a cold, rainy afternoon when I wandered into one of the oldest markets in Paris,

I the March des Enfants Rouges, in the citys 3rd arrondissement. In the center
stands Chez Alain Miam Miam, a shop you must, must visit, no matter what else you
do, a friend had told me, emphasizing that the sandwiches and buckwheat crepes, which
the French call galettes, were the thing to order. (Miam is how the French spell yum.)

So on a Friday around 11:30 a.m., I got in line. There were 17 people ahead of me. Nearby, a
cheesemonger behind a long glass case presided over her vast array of fromagepucks of
chvre covered in dried rosemary, wheels of Brie the size of dinner plates, rounds of
Reblochon that sagged under their own fat content, and bricks of holey Emmental. Across
the way, a man hawked Moroccan stews and couscous packed into tall pyramids, his
cauldrons steaming with the scents of cardamom and harissa.

About 90 minutes later, my stomach was rumbling, and there were still 13 hungry patrons in
front of me. Somehow it took another hour to get to the head of the line. But by that point I
had studied the ways of Monsieur Alain Last-Name-Unknown.

The rst thing you need to know about Alain is that he lacks a sense of urgency. He treats
each guest like an old friend. a va? hell ask cheerfully, as he reaches for a ciabatta. Still
chatting, he slices the loaf lengthwise and douses it with olive oil, staining the crumb a
golden green.

Alain knows how to layer avors and marry complementary ingredients as he builds each
sandwich. A generous pile of lettuce, hot, caramelized onions, shredded raw carrots, and
thinly sliced tomatoes are followed by a sprinkle of dried basil, lemon zest, and gray sea salt.
Thick slices of French ham, lightly cured, buttery, and bright pink, come next, followed by
half a ripe avocado. Then cheese: nutty Comte or funky Cantal, shaved o massive wheels.
Alain shuts each sandwich like a thick Victor Hugo novel and presses his weight onto it,
willing the bread to hold its llings in place like an overstued suitcase. Then each one is
placed atop one of his smoking crepe griddles.

The slick black cooking surface, made of well-seasoned cast iron, hiss as the oil dribbles out
of the sandwich. The lettuce steams as it wilts; the salty cheese melts into pools that
caramelize around the sandwich as it toasts, adding another layer of avor and additional
crunch. Alain uses wooden paddles roughly the size and shape of paint stirrers to press,
prod, and toast the bread on four of six sides, resulting in an impressively compact
rectangular cube. It gets deep brown on most sides, with a few darker burnished pockets
where the oil soaked all the way through the bread. Passers-by turned their noses toward
the griddles as the scent of browned butter, toasted bread, warm pork, fried cheese, and
caramelized onions wafted through the market, challenging the cheesemongers funk and
even the spiced Moroccan dishes a few feet away.

When I nally got to the front, somehow Alain knew I spoke English. I am sorry, he said,
gesturing to the line. I nodded and ordered a sandwichham and Comte; hold the avocado
in broken French. He got to work. Periodically hed shift over to the crepe griddles and ip a
sandwich, or a delicate galette, which I watched with growing interest.

Monsieur Alain. Photos by John Hebrank.

Graphite-gray buckwheat crepes hail from Brittany, a region also known for its seafood,
butter, beer, cider, mineral-rich sea salt, and the sweet and salty pastry known as kouign
amann. While watching my sandwich toast, I decided to order une galette avec beurre sale, a
galette with salted butter. Alain nodded and proclaimed in halting English, I make the best
galettes in all of Paris.

He rubbed a knob of sweet butter atop a hot griddle. The grease popped as he poured a
puddle of batter onto the slick surface. A wooden paddle helped spread the batter into a
thin sheet. As he did all of this, in under ten seconds, the batter boiled, and as the bubbles
popped they left tiny holes behind. Satised, Alain shifted back to his sandwich station.

I make crepes at home a lottheyre easy, and I enjoy the springy texturebut I had never
made a galette. As I watched the batter solidify into a thin, pocked round, I worried it was
burning. I looked over at Alain; predictably, he was oblivious. Minutes went by. Nonchalant,
Alain returned and swiftly slipped a paddle beneath the galette, ipped it, and moved back
to his sandwich station. I sighed; the galette had not burned. It was a deep brown, darker
than a traditional crepe because of the buckwheat our. A moment later, Alain was back
with a cold block of salted butter. Four thick pats landed on the galette; each would melt and
then soak into its crevices. I could smell the butter starting to brown, and I got nervous
again. Just when I thought all was lost, Alain, humming a tune, returned, used a paddle to
fold the galette into quarters, slid it into a paper wrapper, and passed it to me with a wink.

The sandwich was very, very good, but the galette was a revelation. It warmed my ngertips,
which had turned purple from the damp cold, and I closed my eyes to breathe in its salty
scent. It tasted a little bit like the smell of a re-roasted chestnut. Crisp on the edges, soft in
the center, nutty, and lacy all overit was a simple thing done perfectly. I promised myself I
would re-create it.

Back home in New York, I scanned galette recipes in cookbooks. San Franciscobased
pastry chef Elisabeth Prueitts newest book, Tartine All Day, contains a recipe, as does the
Country Cooking of France by cooking instructor Anne Willan. I made those, as well as four
more I found online. But when I cooked each, they yielded limp, eggy crepes. The batter
refused to achieve the laciness of Alains galettes. I played with the liquid: Was water better
than milk? Skim better than whole? I ddled with the amount of our, looking for the secret.
The trick, it turned out, was the type and temperature of the pan.

I disabled my smoke detector, put my cast iron on the stove, greased it well, and turned the
heat all the way up. When the air above the pan blurred hot like a desert landscape, I poured
in some batter, grabbed the handle with a towel, and swirled. The rst one was jagged, but
there it was, that lacy pattern of pinholes. I waited longer than I thought I should before
ipping. I topped it with more salted butter than necessary and let it soak through. And
then, moments later, I folded it up into a paper towel and took a bite, eyes closed, taste
memory complete.

RECIPE

Salted Butter Galettes

12 crepes

INGREDIENTS

2 eggs

teaspoon kosher salt

teaspoon sugar

cup buckwheat our

 cup milk (any kind)

1 cup water

cup all-purpose our

1 tablespoon neutral-avored oil

pound good-quality salted butter, cold, sliced into thin pats

Powdered sugar, to taste (optional)

These simple, delicate salted butter galettes are inspired by Chez Alain Miam Miam, a bakery
in Paris. While galettes are usually made with gluten-free buckwheat our, these call for all-
purpose our in addition to the buckwheat. Youll want to make the batter at least an hour
ahead, but it can also be prepared the night before.

1. In a medium bowl, whisk eggs, salt, and sugar. Mix in buckwheat our, followed by milk,
water, all-purpose our, and oil. Whisk until smooth.

2. Cover and refrigerate for an hour or overnight.

3. Before using, whisk the batter to reincorporate the our that will have settled to the
bottom of the bowl. If batter seems thicker than half-and-half, add more water to thin it.

4. Heat a 10-inch cast-iron skillet (or steel crepe pan) over high heat until it smokes.
Grease it. Quickly pour about cup of batter into the center of the pan and, protecting
your hands from the heat of the handle, swirl the pan quickly to spread the batter. If it
doesnt spread easily, add more water to the batter. The batter should almost
immediately be pocked with tiny holes.

5. When the edges turn brown, ip the galette. I use a small oset spatula, but a nonstick
spatula or even pancake ipper will work, too. Top it with three or four pats of butter.
Let the butter melt into it. When it smells like browned butter, remove the galette from
the pan and place it on a plate while you work on the next one, repeating the process.

6. Serve the galettes folded into quarters, hot or at room temperature, with a dusting of
powdered sugar if desired.
 by

DANIEL AGAL ARZA

Daniela Galarza is a writer and reporter who covers food, restaurants, cooking,
and culture. She used to be a pastry chef. These days she puts her culinary degree
to use by making birthday cakes for friends. She lives in New York with her dog
Frito.