J’adore ma vie!

Oooh-la-la!  I could be forgiven for thinking that I had actually arrived in France this morning.  In fact, I had just arrived in Madison Park.  My mouth will still argue until the cows come home that I was really in France and simply {inexplicably} dreaming about Madison Park.  Since my breakfast adventure today, I have been dreaming about Madison Park.  About going back to Madison Park.  Every day for the rest of my life.  Or at least once a week.

Any week, that is, that I am not {really} in France, like I swear I was earlier today.  This was one {very} French crepe.

I mean, doesn’t this just *look* like France?

Look at all those crisp blues & whites, people.  It just SCREAMS “France!”

France, I tell you.

And this…well…this tasted of France.

Meanwhile, this salad made me weep; and want to go to France. 

 Are you sure I’m not in France?

 I wish I were in France.  Paris, to be exact.

  It even *sounded* like I was in France.  Server #3 is unquestionably from France.  You should have heard the way he said, “La Fermière”, when referring to my {first} crepe of choice.  Enough to make a girl’s knees wobble.

And then…my crepe – tender pieces of chicken in a rich mushroom sauce, wrapped in a buckwheat crepe & drizzled with crème fraîche ($11) – made me {almost} want to date a Frenchman.

But this salad.  I would *marry* this salad.  I think I’d even {almost} like to have it’s enfants.

France, France, France.

Sacré bleu!

 Can I sit here all day and just eat my way through every crepe on the menu?  Like one every 25 minutes.  Would that work, Monsieur?

Oh for the love of all things French.

La Côte Creperie, where have you been all my life?  You’ve been on my list for the longest time.

Had I known that stepping through your doors would be like stepping into a cafe on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, I would have forsaken all others & beaten a path straight into your warm, hedonistic French arms.  Your food, your style, your ambiance.  So very French.  So very…je ne sais quoi…magical, mysterious, mesmerizing.  I will dream of you, every night, until my lips, once again, have the chance to envelop your tender, tasty morsels.

Le Canard – I need to eat you.  All that smoked duck, goat cheese, tomatoes & scallions, lovingly stuffed into an ethereal crepe.  Please still be on the specials board when I return.  And St. Jacques – scallops, leeks & heavy cream – wait for me.

But above all, love of my life, La Citronnée – oh Goddess of crepes – I don’t think I can live without you.

La Côte Creperie on Urbanspoon

*SANE™, inSANE, SANEity – terms used in Jonathan Bailor’s books, The Smarter Science of Slim (out of print) and The Calorie Myth.

What does SANE mean? Click here.Want more scrumptious recipes? Click here to check out my SANE Cookbooks!

Bob - Be glad you weren’t on the Champs Elysées. Bad, expensive crepes served by miserable waiters!!! But just behind the elysian fields are about a hundred wonderful places to go!
Of course you should know that the best crepes come from La Caleche in Varetz
http://www.petitfute.com/guide/366121-caleche?element=photos&pc=-1
and I think you should put it on your “must visit” list (btw it just so happens to be very near where I live and I gig there sometimes. The only problem? All the waiters are waitresses!!!!)

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