The
French Wrap
at
Strohecker's, 2855 SW Patton Road, 525-2361
Open 7
am-7 pm Tuesdays-Saturdays,
10 am-5 pm Sundays.
Children
welcome. No credit cards.
Inexpensive.
Picks: La
boeuf and La vegetarienne, as well as the fresh fruit sweet
wraps. Coming this fall: Sweet wraps with bananas, rum and
walnuts.
Nice Touch:
Though service is speedy (grub in less than 5 minutes),
the proprietors while away hours conversing in their native
tongue and saluting passersby with a jolly "Bonjour!"
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I, like many in
this nation, have ignored one of your most heavenly creations,
the crêpe. Put off by hoity-toity, quasi-French restaurants
and a dislike of mushy, saccharine desserts, I have forsaken
the crêpe for other stuffed treats.
But you have sent me a culinary angel, and I have seen
the error of my ways. Thank you.
One apostle has made it his divine mission to straddle
Old World chow and New World convenience while single-handedly
refuting the supposed snobbery of la cuisine française.
The miracle worker? Thierry Moine: native Parisian and transplanted
Portlander. His secret weapon? The divinely delicious bastard
child of a crêpe and a burrito: the French wrap.
Crêpes have always had a shaky relationship with
the American public. On the Continent, the French pancake
is a street-corner staple, a quick, cheap eat more comparable
to the American burger than Baked Alaska. In their native
habitat of Brittany, the rugged northwestern coast of France,
crêpes are a full-meal deal. A PB& J equivalent
for French grade-schoolers, the easy-to-prepare crêpe
leads a double life. Ham and cheese, eggs and fresh vegetables
of all sorts have always been staple crêpe innards
as well as their sweeter counterparts of fruits and cream.
But on this side of the Atlantic, an army of American imitators
eager to cash in on stylish European cuisine has over the
years pigeonholed the versatile crêpe as an elegant
dessert. Served tableside by scores of boiled-shirt waiters,
the down-home crêpe has been burned into our psyche
as a namby-pamby, ultra-expensive confection. An orange-butter-sauced
strumpet doused with Grand Marnier and set aflame in the
name of kitchen commerce, it was finally reduced to a name
only a French poodle would heel to: "crêpes suzette."
But finally, it seems, we've started to wise up.
These days the battered one is more popular than ever.
Foodwatch, a cooking-trend website, reports that
the past year has seen a doubling of crêpe recipes
in magazines and on web pages. Although about half the recipes
still use crêpes as a dessert, an increasing number
of chefs are using non-traditional fillings, from arugula
to moo shu pork.
Here in town, curious folk can sample anything from outlandish
concoctions like teriyaki chicken crêpes downtown
at the Snow White House (corner of Southwest 9th Avenue
and Yamhill Street) to a simple, sweet Nutella and banana
treat at La Crêperie (below Jane's Obsession on Northwest
23rd Avenue).
But to become a true believer in griddle power, one must
make the pilgrimage up the winding slopes of the illustrious
West Hills. There, nestled snugly in the front section of
Strohecker's market (2855 SW Patton Road), sits Thierry
Moine's crêpe kingdom, the French Wrap.
Under his logo of crossed French and American flags, Moine
wields a spatula like a man possessed. And when he spouts
his motto, tout peut se mettre en crêpe (anything
can be put inside a crêpe), he ain't kidding. French
Wrap's Cordon Bleu-trained chef Dray Nuttall has created
fillings from pork curry, sausage and white beans, salmon
and even Starbucks ice cream. If it is edible, chances are
Nuttall, Moine and his partner Rozenn Nicolas have turned
it into a mutated crêpe masterpiece--or soon will.
Returning to the original concept of the crêpe as
a meal, Moine has managed to tame our collective prejudice
against snooty French vittles by marrying them to a national
favorite: the humble burrito. Though his crêpe recipe
is timeless (buckwheat flour for the savory crêpes
and a white flour for the sweet), simple additions like
rice and veggies jack the flavor level up a notch. And for
ease of handling, the tender goodies are wrapped burrito-style
instead of in the traditional crêpe triangle.
The appeal of French Wrap creations is their ocean-crossing
mesh of taste and presentation. The pungent flavors and
textures Nuttall's boeuf bourguignon takes on when mixed
with savory rice and wild greens is only heightened inside
a piping-hot crêpe. On the sugary side, the myrtilles
à la crème du citron (a zingy mouthful
of lemon cream and fresh blueberries) explodes with tangy
goodness, while the ever-useful crêpe itself soaks
up all the juices left over. But heed batter-master Rozenn's
suggestion to peel these tin-foil wrapped hybrids--let's
call them "crêperritos"--from the top and work your
way down. Your noshing success will be higher--and your
dry-cleaning bills lower.
The best surprise at French Wrap isn't the array of fresh
ingredients or the ingenious blend of cultural styles but
the price: These babies are cheap. Thwarting our haute
cuisine conditioning once again, Moine has priced his
flavor-packed wraps from around $2.95 to $5.95, less cash
than even the downtown carts charge.
The low cost is impressive given French Wrap's swanky location.
With a high-brow clientele, carefully arranged foodstuffs
and a wine section the size of a small island nation, Strohecker's
(a Thriftway for the last two years) has long been a grocer
to the upscale. But French Wrap's low-cost crêpes
may soon make it a mecca for all.
Even the hard-to-please Frenchies themselves seem to like
the gourmet Mexi-crêpe wonders. Expats (including
Le Bouchon owner Christian Geffrard) flock to French Wrap's
charming tile counter and red vinyl stools for a warped
taste of home, while Francophile newcomers and students
from the nearby French-American school stammer their orders
in their best accents at the takeout window. With six savory
and seven sweet wraps, daily specials and a kid's menu complete
with a peanut butter and jelly wrap, it's a fully functional
family joint as well.
I don't know whether Moine's crêpe crusade will appeal
to the Rose City's downtown fast-food sloths, but he is
gaining converts up on the hill daily. For my part, like
the face of Jesus on a 99-cent prayer candle, I shall smile
benevolently at the harried fast-food masses, waiting in
serene repose for them to turn away from the greasy sin
of pizza and fries. I already have French Wrap on my tongue.
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