My Mom’s Crepes

When I was in middle school, I lived in Sweden. I remember that I took the tunnelbana- which is what they called the subway- to school every day. I used to eat my breakfast on the train ride to school everyday as it was the norm for me to wake up late everyday. I would always arrive at school a solid five minutes late, but that didn’t matter because the teacher was always ten minutes late. So I would be at ease, enjoying my breakfast crepes, as I admired the beautiful sceneries of Stockholm, Sweden flash by outside the window. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not sure that what I was eating could technically be defined as a crepe- they weren’t technically made with the same recipe-  but it walked like a crepe and it talked like a crepe, so for now its a crepe. 

As I passed through the handful of stations that existed between my school in Hötorget and my house in Gullmarsplan, I crossed over two major water bodies. The realization that there was an entire island between my house and my school only hit me after I left Sweden. I remember that I was actually in a train in India- passing over a similar water body- when the thought crossed my mind. I do enjoy the irony.  

My mom’s crepes are not a pleasure food. It is quite the opposite actually. It’s what you make when you have two cups of flour and no time on your hands. It’s the kind of junk food with a ‘healthy twist’ that leaves you wondering why you decided to pick it of all things to be your sugary snack for the day. Now, I don’t intend to publicly criticize my mother for her odd crepes.  My mom is a good cook, who can make great food. The problem is that most great foods are bad for you and my mom is a health nut. I enjoyed my mother’s crepes, nonetheless,  despite their odd twist. 

I remember that my mom only made these crepes for breakfast on school days. She always packed about three or four for me to enjoy on the train ride to school. By the ninth grade, I no longer took the train to school, so I could no longer enjoy crepes for breakfast. We only get to enjoy them now on Friday nights for a mid night snack. Even those occasions are not very frequent. In a way, I like to think of my weaning off of these crepes as an ending sign. 

Its Hötorget, my stop has arrived. Except this time, I won’t be walking out of the train station and heading to my school. This time, I’ll be catching a connection train that will be taking me to a further destination. I’m not sure where the train is headed, but I’m sure that it will pass over a bridge. And, I’ll think about how I used to travel over islands going 300 miles per hour, while peacefully enjoying my crepes on my way to school. And perhaps one day I’ll be the one making those crepes for a kid whose is  rushing out the door everyday, late for first period.

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