Dear 611 Supreme: It's over.
We had a thing. I came to rely on your consistent performance. Then, suddenly, you lost it.
I always sat in your dark, sexy bar, and I always got the same thing—a toasty-browned crêpe wrapped warmly around ham and melty Gruyère with mushroom cream sauce. Then, one night not long ago, my satisfaction was thwarted: The crêpe on my plate was flaccid and pasty, no toastiness or crisp edges, a pale blob with the cheese inside grainy and unmelted and cold.
After I could begin to forget what had happened, I gave you a second chance. Same deal. This time I sent it back, but the same travesty of a crêpe returned, still unhealthily pallid, all aglob. The cheese had melted more, but I didn't want to think about what had happened to it while it was away. Or look at it. Or eat it.
Why'd you go changing, baby? What HAPPENED in your kitchen? Crêpes are not rocket science. Perhaps considered fancy domestically, in France they're often as not bought from a surly street vendor, made quickly with something savory or spread with Nutella, eaten on the fly. At home, they're stuffed with leftovers and baked under a blanket of sauce, or fixed for a quick dessert. They're PANCAKES, for god's sake. I am not alone—other devotees concur—it's you, not us.
Forced to play the field, I had dinner with three prospects I'd had my eye on anyway: Cafe Darclée, Le P'tit Bistro, and Bouchée Cafe.
Cafe Darclée
The Setting: This crêperie on Fisher Plaza looks out on the glowing multitude of televisions at Sport across the way. The modern space houses a podlike open kitchen and a retail area, with a few tables around the corner. The décor is a little baffling: strangely shaped acoustic panels suspended overhead, shelves of glass-and-metal objects for sale behind a sort of shower curtain, a birdcage. There's also some visually challenging wallpaper—in short, a lot going on.
The Crêpe: A tri-fold version of my ham-and-cheese favorite (with asparagus, $8) was fine with a couple caveats. Crêpes here are extremely thin and quite eggy, elastic, nearly transparent encasements (for generally fresh, toothsome fillings, though one sample had underripe tomato). A topping of grated Emmenthal may have contributed to a somewhat greasy exterior; one diner looked around and then surreptitiously blotted a crêpe with a napkin. The litmus dessert crêpe (powdered sugar and lemon, $4.75, an unbeatable sweet/tart combo) was, again, stretchy and paper-thin, with the squeeze-your-own-lemon a nice touch.
The Charm Factor: Middling at best: extremely nice French server, chef with jaunty beret-type chef's hat, but points off for awkward atmosphere. It's difficult to justify $11 per average dinner crêpe in a space that feels like it should be a Mail Boxes Etc.
Le P'tit Bistro
The Setting: Marooned in a canyon of condominiums on the far reaches of Second Avenue in Belltown, this prototypically French place was tragically empty on a Tuesday evening. The simple, authentic bistro model may be tough for local Wasabi Bistro–goers to wrap their heads around; it's not upscale, but not just a coffeeshop, either. Airy yet cozy, it's got cheerful striped seat cushions, round woven placemats, and a not-annoying amount of French bric-a-brac. Turning down the lights a bit might help the neighbors comprehend what the hell's going on.
The Crêpe: Not too thick, not too thin, this specimen bespoke fresh, well-proportioned batter and offered bite resistance without rubberiness. A big half-moon crêpe Paysanne with ham, Gruyère, Emmenthal, mushrooms, and a bit of cream ($10) was topped with an uncommonly fresh and delicious fried egg, making me wonder whether the place is harboring a hen in the back. (A salad, however, suffered from sad, pale tomatoes akin to those at Darclée. Why not just let well enough alone?) The sugar-and-lemon dessert crêpe ($5.50) was also reassuringly exactly as it should be.
The Charm Factor: High for Francophiles/Francophones, perhaps more elusive for others; run by a couple from Grenoble: she serves; he emerges from the back to say, "C'est bon?" in a very winning fashion.
Bouchée Cafe
The Setting: The candlelit dimness and soundtrack (Moby, Ella Fitzgerald) here most closely resemble the charm of 611 Supreme (although the Degas murals met with mixed reviews). The staff appears to be American, but they're all appropriately sexy—our server had a knowing smile and excellent timing. Stuck to the high ceiling are playing cards, the result of a trick by the Friday-night magician.
The Crêpe: The ham, asparagus, and Gruyère crêpe ($12) is both pretty and tasty; a very cute crock of Dijon nestles on the plate. The slightly spongy texture offers a bit more body, especially in the roll format, making the crêpe itself more of a presence. The lemon/sugar version ($6) came with a heart-shaped dish of strawberries.
The Charm Factor: Definitely most likely to get you laid on a date, so perhaps the best value.
Thus both Le P'tit Bistro and Bouchée Cafe won me over, for different reasons. For now, I'll keep my options open. And 611 Supreme, please let me know if you can iron out our differences. The door is always open—I'll take you back.
