Flavor Boulevard

Tag: crepe

  • Some crepes are better than others


      My cravings fluctuate from time to time, and it’s not always rational. One time I bought two kilos of prunes, ate some for a few days, now the rest are sitting patiently in my pantry. Then I used to have a crush on chocolate bars, the result is an almost complete collection of Endangered Species Chocolate wrappers, but a few bars have been on my desk for over six months. As of late, I’ve grown a crepe tooth. A matchbox kitchen fifteen-minute leisure walk from Sather Tower, called Crepes A-Go-Go, is to blame.


      A quick drop of sound sizzles when the spatula folds and presses the fluffy layer. The oversize pancake lies supine. The heat is low. The quiet, stout chef casually sprinkles some Swiss cheese and some pineapple; he seems bored, or maybe I’m just too excited. I like my crepe soft and thick. Heck, I even like my banh xeo soft and thick, no matter how many people tell me that a qualified Vietnamese sizzling crepe should be crispy and paper thin. I watch the cheese melt. The chef lets the doughy pancake rest a minute or two, then deftly folds it again into one sixth of a disc, sweeps and swings it into a clear plastic container. My five-buck-and-a-quarter dinner to go seems sluggish and content like a well-fed baby pig.


      And soon I am one happy hog myself. The cheese-turkey-pineapple crepe is a rich and chewy mess. The first bite is so good I ditch the plastic fork (which doesn’t do much at cutting anyway). Pineapple juice streams out at the tip as I scramble to bite sideway, and when the crepe reduces to a sizable conic chunk I use it to wipe clean the juice. The last mouthful is as rewarding and lingering as it can be, my fingers wet with butter and cheese. But my embarrassing story doesn’t just end here.

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    • Cafe Grillades – Crepe a bite after a long flight


        The San Francisco airport is a great excuse to eat out on the other side of the bay. Catching a morning flight? Breakfast at Milbrae Pancake House. Picking up parents and wanting to show them around at mid day? Lunch at La Boheme in Burlingame. Arriving in a lazy afternoon after four hours confined in the airplane’s seat with a neck cramp and in the mood for something nice, light but hearty? A crepe at Cafe Grillades of San Bruno sounds just right.

        It’s one of those homey places where you can nibble a panini while reading the chronicles, sit by the window and gaze at a quiet parking lot, or meet someone for a casual interview. It has the boureks and the Algerian couscous if you want to impress old friends with an interesting order, but it also serves classic ham and cheese on toast all day. It will satisfy both the burger hunger and the vegan healtheist. It has the West European facade, the Mediterranean sum up, the North Saharan novelty, the San Franciscan appeal. In plain view, Cafe Grillades has a pretty good all-inclusive menu.

        But we came here for crepes, and get crepes we did. Somehow the herbivore in Mudpie and the carnivore in me switched place that day. Mudpie decidedly took on the Algiers Merguez, spicy lamb and beef sausage mingled with chunky potatoes,  mushy tomatoes, and slabs of onions in crème fraiche (first picture). I, feeling betrayed by the chicken burrito on the plane, went down the defiant path with a ratatouille flat square hot pocket.

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      • Crêpes Café – another home for the French curl

          With vision unstoppable by foliage, Mudpie saw the sign above hidden behind rows of trees as we were roaming Menlo Park for a lunch spot on a Friday afternoon one month ago. Question asked, “should we go there or keep looking for something else?”, as we drove past another block. It should be noted that we missed a turn once, chose direction by random illogical preference (as I had no idea where which direction led to). We also passed a bunch of places with clarity and apparent popularity, or places that Mudpie has tried before. But we were out for a food hunt, not chicken shopping at grocery stores, and this place fits the adventure. Answer made, “let’s go there.” So turn we did, a parking spot was not too hard to find on the side of the place, passing by the nonchalant gaze of customers sitting outdoor and in we went.

          I can’t quite call it a restaurant. Some call every eating stop with chairs and tables a restaurant, but this is an example of one that doesn’t fit into the category. A restaurant is brisk. The bistro is relaxing. Paintings on the wall for sale, empty wooden seats painted blue, wooden tables with a filled glass water jug to help yourself and a trifling vase of fresh flowers. The usual small box of sweetener and salt, which I play with while waiting. I can’t remember if there was AC, but it was comfortable. The menu says it’s a family business, and it sure looks like it. A friendly but quiet young lady greeted us at the counter, and as we stumbled around the menu overhead, a stocky man in his 30s, who turned out to be the chef, cordially invited us to seat ourselves and gave us two menus in print. We felt better as we were no longer blocking the narrow entrance to the counter. There was no customer inside.
          Normally I like to plunge right into something weird catchy on the menu, but since I had such a hot wonderful savourastic chicken crepe one wintry night on the street right outside the WSCTC, I couldn’t resist the memory and ordered Chicken & Creamy Dijon Sauce savory crepe this time. With a little persuasion, Mudpie overcame the American disgust distrust for pâté, and ordered Duck Rillettes (duck meat pate with cornichon on baguette). (I felt elevated as if I could speak French.)

          A peek inside.
          It is so simple, just like the atmosphere of the bistro itself. A layer of rillettes, a few cornichons (pickled gherkins), sandwiched between two pieces of bread. As Mudpie noted, it’s something you can make at home, if you know where to get or how to make rillettes. The additional quirky cornichons were perhaps supposed to be a contrast to the smooth, tender, savory rillettes, but sometimes contradiction doesn’t really enhance things. I took them out and nibbled them by themselves. (Had to drink a lot of water after each nibble). Meat pate is a little different from liver pate and a little similar to spam. It is not at all bitter, a little crumblier than spam, and far tastier. I’m getting hungry… For me pate is ranked right up there with marinated cha lua and a real brown crispy cha gio. I never grow tired of them. I even had rice mixed with pate. Mudpie, once muttered “… gross pate…”, also agreed that the sandwich was good.

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