It seems every time I visit Church Street there’s something new that catches my eye, or the store I’m looking for has moved, at the least. Burlington never disappoints. It was a nippy, but not unbearable Thursday afternoon. I noticed a rather unassuming “Mr. Crepe” sign. The restaurant was heavily windowed and wedged in such a location that I’d either completely overlooked it somehow, or it occupied one of several vacant buildings that dotted the Church street marketplace. I decided to pop in and see what the fuss was about.
Half a decade of learning French, and visiting both rural and urban France gives one a measuring stick for the different regional practices in preparing the crepe. Some people prefer their crepes firmer and cooked through more, with browning. Others prefer them softer and more egg-like, with my preference being more towards the latter. It’s really all about the “accoutrements,” however. Any self-respecting creperie will offer both savory crepes and sweet crepes.
I walked in and surveyed the room. From the outside it appeared to have been just like every other coffee shop. A large blackboard overshadowed the counter. Luckily, there was a woman in front of me who was deciding what to order, which gave me time to search the entire board over, unsuccessfully, for their crepe menu.
I approached the front of the counter and was greeted by an energetic waitress. A stack of diner-style menus on the counter advertised the crepes offered, and all the “accoutrements.” Half of the menu listed the sweet crepes, varying in price from a 5 dollar crepe seasoned in an assortment of sugars, to more indulgent options: bananas, strawberries, Nutella, peanut butter, and just about every kind of sweetener you could imagine. For the savory fans, there were crepes with chicken, peppers, onions, egg, salsa, cheese, and steak.
Just like the Skinny Pancake, Mr. Crepe has an assortment of colorful nicknames for their crepes. I ordered the “Chocolate Heartbreak,” which is essentially chocolate-hazelnut spread and sliced strawberries.
The young lady returned, handing me something I eventually registered as a vibrating pager. I walked to a vacant booth and looked around the eatery. A middle-aged woman sat at a table near the window keeping to herself, and closer to me a mother struggled to contain her two toddlers at a table while the father ordered up front.
Observing my surroundings, I noted twin bathrooms located near the rear of the building, and closer to the counter a station to grab napkins, dump trash and place dishes.
While waiting for my order, I fiddled with my phone. Checking the Wi-Fi, I noticed that I wasn’t able to find any signal from Mr. Crepe for internet. There was another network, unsecured, within range, however most eateries on Church Street make certain to have their own network which requires a laborious log-in process.
Ten or so minutes later, my pager went off, and I returned it to the counter to exchange it for my food. I was also granted permission to buy a Nantucket Nectar, and so I returned to my seat and prepared to chow.
A general rule of thumb is to never go grocery shopping when you’re hungry since you’re more likely to buy stuff you’re craving rather than what you should have in reserve (i.e. processed foods vs fresh ingredients.) In that respect, when writing a restaurant review, you probably shouldn’t do so when you’re extraordinarily hungry. My buzzer activated and I received my food. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to devour the entire thing, compressing the experience to one or two barbaric mouthfuls. I didn’t do this, though. The crépe was folded into a shape resembling a trapezoid. It seems how the crépe is folded is something else that differs where you go. My first bite was bland and starchy. The crépe had a texture like that of a tortilla, and the piece I had cut off contained only pancake and no filling.
As I continued to munch on the crépe, I became more and more disheartened at the inconsistency of the filling. It seemed instead of spreading the Nutella, the man in charge of crepe formation instead slathered some Nutella in the center, along with the sliced strawberries. If I were reviewing, for instance, a Chinese food buffet, I wouldn’t be concerned with the specifics of the shape and cut of the General Tso’s chicken. In the case of this crépe, however, something should be said for the style in which it was prepared. Why slice a strawberry wafer thin and layer it in the center, when a preferred method would be to quarter the strawberries? This would preserve some of the texture of the fruit, as well as “bulking up” the crépe itself. The strawberries themselves tasted lifeless and processed.
Mr. Crépe offers a varied menu. There are all sorts of baked goods and breakfast-lunch fare. Their expansive blackboard lists many different fresh sandwiches, salads and beverages. Mr. Crépe offers a cheap, unenlightened substitute for what should be a restaurant-quality item. There is essentially no theme or decor to speak of. Vermont is the ideal place to integrate American and French-Canadian cuisine. Mr. Crépe seems to be following, or rather wallowing, in the wake of the success the Skinny Pancake has achieved. Much of Burlington resonates with foodies and the health-conscious alike by buying local and buying organic. In eating at Mr. Crepe, I wanted to be reminded of France and French cuisine, but instead felt disengaged and leery. I could almost hear the beep and sizzle of another synthetic fast-food chain I try my best to avoid.
Imagine my displeasure when I happened to be wandering the same streets a week later. A fold-out sign in front of the restaurant advertised their specials. I went inside and ordered their Cream of Tomato soup. After a 15 minute wait staring out the window at the hazy weather, the buzzer went off, and I grabbed my dish.
Presented in a white porcelain bowl and served with crackers, the soup went down with a distinct acidic burn that I knew my throat didn’t agree with. There was no garnish to speak off, not even a sprig of parsley. Again, the food here tasted manufactured and bland. Cream of Tomato typically has some consistency to it from the pureed tomato, but in this case it was as thin as skim milk. I added some salt and pepper and managed to drink most of the soup if only for the warming effect it had.
That’s two strike-outs for Mr. Crepe in my book. In sampling both from their crepe menu and their contemporary dining menu I found nothing to write home about. The fact of the matter is there are just too many good places in Burlington offering reasonably priced quality meals to bother with Mr. Crepe, who seems to prefer variety over quality.
