The French

Today, I go back to Tour de Crepes, a favorite of mine. I order the salmon crepe. Several crepes here are worth trying, but the salmon is the only one worthy of a shout out. Smoked salmon, dilled chèvre, spinach, and capers in a buckwheat flour crepe - delicious.

It's changed a bit in here since I've last graced this converted carriage house with my presence. [The kitchen is out back in an Airstream trailer. A little sketchy, but I'm not above food from a trailer.] They have new tables, I think. Other improvements have been made: a small vase of flowers now adorns each table, the heater has been turned to more efficiently warm the often chilly room, and the row of theater seats no longer are backed against the wall - a door is used as a coffee table in front of them. I love the worn pink furniture and the kitchen table [we sit there when we want to argue].

In a bold moment, I decide I will try the housemade vanilla bean custard. The flavor is nice, but the texture is grainy. No good! I send it back to the kitchen. She blends it for me and this is much superior. It's a bit runny, but I am sure it firms up when chilled. I like the little tiny crunch the vanilla bean brings.

I like the French music. The service here isn't particularly attentive, but help was found when I truly needed it. She helped me find out the name of the woman singing rich, glorious music through the stereo - and thus entered Madeleine Peyroux into my life. Sometimes I've eaten here completely alone. It is quite pleasant if that is what you are seeking.

Today is French Film Friday. I've never been, but I am charmed by the idea and wholeheartedly intend to show up by 7pm some Friday evening.