Crepas de Cajeta

I believe I was about six years old when I fell in love for the first time. You see, Sundays are usually family days in Mexico, a day when brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and parents stroll around and go out to eat. My parents would often take us to restaurants that had tableside service (but they were not as fancy as you might think), and my sister Yael and I always ordered the crepas de cajeta. They were only good if they were cooked as a spectacle, because that was a big part of the deliciousness that would soon follow. We would stand way too close to the waiter and impatiently watch as the butter bubbled when it hit the pan. The cajeta was poured and a thick, gooey caramel sauce slowly melted into a silky sheet that would cover and warm the golden crepes that were folded into triangles. We begged for the spoon that inevitably had some cajeta left on it, and more often than not had fights over it. And then we would take a step back so we could watch the blue and orange flames as if they were the “poof” in a magic trick. Oh, the anticipation would make our mouths water, and although we stood still, I felt as though my heart was jumping up and down every time—I thought they were palpitations for the man who made those wonderful crepes! We would rush to our seats as he plated the crepes and would hold our forks ready to attack. Yael always asked for vanilla ice cream, and it is the ideal complement to the dessert, even though, in my opinion, they are perfect just the way they are. If you would like them with ice cream, they go very nicely with Requesón Cheese Ice Cream (page 185).