Crèpes

Portland, December 11—

THEY'RE JUST A LITTLE too, well, casual, or something, to register among the Hundred Plates. Well, I take that back: they belong to the Family of Pancakes, and that family surely qualifies. Three crèperies stand out in my disorderly cabinet of culinary recollections: the crèpe stand on the Boulevard St. Michel at the entrance to the Jardins de Luxembourg, of fond memories from the 1970s; a curious and not altogether (otherwise) memorable visit to Montmartre not long after (which was no longer there the next time we visited, also not long after); and Chez Erik, a crèpe-truck on the beach in Papeete, perhaps the most authentic-seeming crèpes I've had, with very authentic bols of cider.

But then, I've never eaten crèpes in Brittany, so what's the point of all this?
There's also Ty Couz in San Francisco; I've enjoyed them there; and Crèpes-a-Go-Go in Berkeley, which I like more than do others in my family.

Years ago, getting on toward forty, a dear friend of ours wanted to open a crèperie in Berkeley. She made very good ones; we used to walk down Francisco Street to her apartment for a dinner of them, and then we'd all walk back up to our apartment for dessert; and so Chez Panisse was born. But that's another story.

Today we went to Suzette for lunch, and I had one of my very favorite dishes, a classic crèpe filled with spinach, gruyère, and egg. Suzette's new, installed in a former carriage-house — in fact hardlyr more than a double garage, pierced with enough windows to light it, cheefully painted, hung about with cute mismatched bathroom chandeliers and set with a number of mismatched, comfortable chairs and tables. (Some of the seating seems to be ripped out of a former movie theater.) The kitchen's out back, in a small Airstream trailer. The menu runs to sweet and savory crèpes, onion soup, quiche, salad, and the like; and a small, effective wine-and-beer list. (And cider, of course.) Lindsey had a delicious prosciutto-and-onion crèpe, and we finished with a fine Grand Marnier crèpe. We might have been in Paris. Well, on the outskirts.

Red wine

Suzette, 2921 NE Alberta St., Portland Oregon