Crêpe crap out

When you circle the block a few times to find parking in Hillcrest and then find a 30-minute space for an errand that lasts all of five minutes, do you leave straight away? Me neither. I had 25 minutes of free parking left in Hillcrest and some lunchtime hunger.

That’s how I stumbled upon Bino’s Bistro & Crêperie. It sits in the back of a shopping center parking lot where I had my car (unjustly) towed several years back, and I suppose I never noticed it till now because the whole center’s now a dead-to-me spot in the middle of town.

Being one of those irritating sorts who loves to speak about French food and culture, complete with bad pronunciation and affected eyebrow arch, I was instantly smitten upon entering the charming, rustic space. There were jazz posters on walls of shabby brick, parlour guitars as decor, and barstools made from vintage bicycle spokes.

Better still, there was a covered patio, comfy and perfect for a stopover lunch. Despite the crêperie moniker, it turns out Bino’s offers an intriguing menu of sandwiches and salads promising occasional local and organic ingredients and other taglines of freshness. But there’s no putting the toothpaste back in the tube. I had crêpe on my mind and turned straight to the savory section of the menu. Right at the top of the list was a Chicken Florentine, promising cage-free chicken breast, spinach, and béchamel. Done.

When the crêpe got to my table a quick few minutes later, I was a little disheartened to see the chicken, spinach, and sauce were served on top of the folded crêpe, rather than cooked into it as I would expect (they even accomplish this at IHOP). While I can’t think of a reason this should make a difference in taste, and it raised food portions to hangry American levels, it did bum out my inner Francophile.

So I dug into the pile of spinach, topped by a pile of sliced chicken, topped by a heaping dose of béchamel, aka flour, milk, and butter. The sauce tasted okay, and the chicken did its best to keep up. The baby spinach was uncooked, adding some leafy freshness, but none of the ingredients seemed remotely aware of each other and it felt like eating a boring salad. Underneath it all, the crêpe itself had a nice elastic texture with a hint of sweetness and, if I’m guessing right, nutmeg.

To be fair, crêpes in France tend to be served as street food, so I shouldn’t expect any great pride of preparation here. But I never for a minute felt compelled to linger over my meal, and I returned to my car with little reason to return to this shopping center, except maybe for the Penzeys spice shop next door.