Your move, crepe

A three-day holiday weekend with lots of sunshine and mild weather? That can only mean one thing: It is Memorial Day, and there is time for crepes. And, obviously, terrible puns about crepes. But don’t blame me; I didn’t start it. No, the culpability for that rests squarely on the shoulders of the proprietors of our neighborhoods creperie, the Crepe Vine.

I’m not sure if this style of crepe is mainly a Bay Area/Northern California thing or if it’s something that became suddenly popular as soon as I moved here, but I’d never seen them before I moved out to San Francisco where they are a ubiquitous weekend brunch food. The formula is always the same: A savory crepe served with home-fried potatoes and a small salad. It’s not something I indulge in often, but when I do I always enjoy it.

(You’ll have to forgive the sub-par photography, as I forgot to bring along the real camera and was left to take iPhone snaps in the glare of the early afternoon sun.)

Above is Cat’s choice of crepe, called the San Francisco. You might wonder what combination of ingredients the owners of the Crepe Vine have deemed worthy of naming after their home town, but the answer I fear is mildly underwhelming. It’s just salmon, greens, onions, dijon, and something to do with capers. Me, I tend to think of salmon as more of a Pacific Northwest thing, whereas the essence of San Francisco would be some sort of Asian fusion. But clearly they’re the ones raking in the American Funbuxx™ with their popular crepe restaurant, whereas I’m some dude who barely ever remembers to update his amateurish food blog, so what do I know?

My own selection, which is much less disgusting in person than the photo would suggest, was the Tuscan. That angry green blob on top is a smear of pesto, and I swear it looks far less toxic in person. Unlike the San Francisco, the Tuscan actually seems somewhat representative of its namesake location, consisting as it does of chicken, feta cheese, pesto and almonds, and big chunks of tomato. Although I don’t doubt someone from Tuscany might sneer at this offering; it is, at the very least, representative of the stereotype of that region.

I suppose it doesn’t really matter what you put in a crepe, because by the simple virtue of being in a crepe it will be delicious. Crepe Vine doesn’t make the absolute best crepes in the world, but they’re definitely tasty. Having those wonderfully carcinogenic home fries on the side doesn’t hurt, either. Those things are delicious in that special way that only something fried to the point of carbon in a pool of heart-stopping fat can be.

It probably goes without saying that Crepe Vine and other similar creperies offer dessert crepes as well, usually made with things like lemon sauce and Nutella, but my wallet and waist line can only afford so much indulgence in a single day. That will be a treat for a different day.