Arum held her tongue between her teeth as she poured milk into the flour mixture. The risoles had to be just right. If they were too thin, the crepe would tear with handling. Too thick, and the dough would overpower the subtle flavours of the vegetable filling. Her heart felt tight as the batter clung to the whisk in stubborn tufts. She added more milk.

When she thought the mixture was the right consistency, she ladled a spoonful into the saucepan and held her breath as she watched it cook. Carefully she peeled the crepe away, ignoring the sting to her fingertips from the heat of the pan. She laid the crepe out across a platter and inspected it for a moment. It wasn’t perfectly round, but it would do. She smiled, wiping perspiration from her upper lip with the back of her hand, and dipped the ladle into the batter again.