Don't Expect to Find a Paris Cafe in an American Suburb

However, hope springs eternal, doesn't it? So when I got an ad in the mail that a creperie was here in my neighborhood, I had to try it. The Husband brought home a "Greek Imperial Crepe," filled with "Melted Cheddar / Jack Cheese with Lemon Juice and Fresh Spinach in Artichoke Sauce with Walnut."

I took a bite.

It tasted oddly familiar.

Took another bite.

There was something crunchy in it, that wasn't a walnut. I visually examined the specimen. Water chestnut.

Took another bite and realized why it was familiar.

It was a crepe filled with spinach/artichoke dip. The kind you make with mayonnaise and Knorr soup mix. I know it was Knorr soup mix, because I recognized the rehydrated vegetables.

I am in the process of trying to lose weight and save money. To waste both money and calories on this was, to say the least, disappointing.

My point, and I do have one:

This very true story also makes a good metaphor. So often, we get excited about something that's too good to be true. A Paris creperie in the suburbs! Then when we get into it, we say, hmm. This is familiar. And we realize that we're eating the same old schlock found at every employee potluck, just wrapped up in a crepe and microwaved.

Moral of the story? There really isn't one, other than to say, don't be surprised. Match your expectations to a realistic view of the situation.

As for me ... well, I'll still keep trying little hole-in-the-wall places that sound too good to be true. About once every 15 times, I'm rewarded. That's not bad odds, in my book.

Now, please excuse me. I've got to mix up some crepe batter to have for later. See, I do know someone who makes fantastic, authentic crepes. Which is, I guess, another moral.