The Crepe Question

I strive to finally answer the question that literally no one is asking: What is a crepe?

There are very few things about which I consider myself a traditionalist, but one of those few things is breakfast. I take the all-American dessert-for-breakfast route of syrupy pancakes, juicy fruits, and fruity juice. That is, if I even have breakfast at all (the cool kids call it “intermittent fasting,” but I know I’m just lazy).

This particular morning, though, was different. I was hanging out around the Hamlin area and not only was I feeling unusually breakfasty, I was also feeling like a little adventure. I’d recently read somewhere that a true French crepe is rarely served sweet, especially when it’s breakfast.

I never even considered a savory crepe the handful of times I’d had them. Since they were always smothered with strawberry sauce and stuffed with cream cheese, I assumed that, much like a pancake, they were just sweet.

So I popped into The French Café and perused their Savory Crepes menu. Resisting the call of the sweet menu just to the left, I settled on the “Alpine.”

I imagine the name of the dish isn’t because of the adorable little meat mountain in the center, but it’s what came to my mind. The garnish on top foreshadows what’s inside: prosciutto, bacon, potatoes, and Muenster cheese. And a zig-zag drizzle of hollandaise gives the whole thing a vibe of Toaster-Strudel-but-make-it-classy.

Since I’m in the neighborhood of comparing crepes to American breakfasts, I would say a crepe is a pancake-lite, if I wanted to keep things simple and also offend the French. But functionally, it’s more like an omelet, as its key purpose is to hold the filling that ultimately defines the crepe.

I know in my heart of hearts that I should be ordering a veggie egg white omelette or something, but I don’t like to feel sad before noon.

I was pondering these inconsequential semantics while I ate (and thoroughly enjoyed, despite my inclinations) the Alpine crepe, and sought a control sample. I sliced off one of the corners, untouched by meats or cheeses, and took a bite. Then I sliced off another corner. And while I felt the slightly soft, slightly spongy texture as I chewed, I really couldn’t tell you what it tasted like.

It could be that my palate was already too acclimated to the bacon and prosciutto. Or that I don’t have enough knowledge or awareness to discern those little subtleties.

I was raised on Frosted Flakes and freezer pancakes (tip: put the syrup on before you put them in the microwave; it’ll soak through while they cook). I know that fluffy, eggy French toast and the flapjacks that act as a vehicle for chocolate chips don’t have the most tasteful taste profiles, but breakfast just doesn’t feel like breakfast without something super sweet. I know in my heart of hearts that I should be ordering a veggie egg white omelette or something, but I don’t like to feel sad before noon.

It may very well be that the bold simplicity of the flavors I grew up with has spoiled my taste buds for being able to appreciate a subtle flavor. I’ve said it in the past: I am not a foodie. I couldn’t tell you whether Muenster cheese is the “correct” choice for this combination of meats, or even what exactly Muenster cheese tastes like. To tell you the god’s honest truth, I’m only about 80% sure that’s hollandaise sauce. But as someone who normally wouldn’t entertain a savory breakfast, I would—and very likely will, next time I’m in Hamlin—order a savory crepe again.

Did I find out what a crepe actually is? Probably not. But I found out what a crepe can be. And that’s worth the adventure.

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