"Philadelphia now has something it always needed but never knew: a genuine, Breton creperie."

Let Them Eat Crepe

With Beau Monde, Philadelphia now has something it always needed but never knew: a genuine, Breton creperie.

By Judy West

Crepes, along with fondue and Tab, emerged from the'70s with a sullied reputation. And they deserved their lowly status on the

food chain. Nobody should ever have been forced to eat those thick, rubbery pancakes oozing with white sauce-smothered crab or soggy chicken paprika. 'Leaden" doesn't begin to describe their effect on the digestive system, never mind the waistline. And so, like flares and bean bags, crepes fell out of favor for a couple of decades. In America, that is. In France, where they were never a food fad, people have been eating crepes for centuries.

To make a proper French crepe - a whisper-thin, fork-tender affair - you need the right equipment, and Beau Monde, the creperie on the corner of Sixth and Bainbridge, has pulled out a the stops. Justly proud of their imported iron griddles (called "biligs"), owners Jim Caiola and David Salama, with a dash of pure showmanship, have transformed Beau Monde's tiny kitchen into street theater. Walk along Bainbridge at the lunch or dinner hour and you'll see Bolivian-born Salama - his long braid flying as he plies his trade - pouring batter onto the three flat, round griddles lined up next to the window. With his rozell, sort of a toothless wooden rake, he spreads the batter perilously thin, and as it starts to bubble and brown he flips the crepe effortlessly with a sharp wooden spatula called a spanell.

After witnessing that masterful performance, who could resist stepping inside the bistro door, just a few steps away, to sample the fruits of Salama's labor? We couldn't, and as we passed through the heavy velvet curtains we entered a scene worthy of the Left Bank. Aglow with flickering firelight and the gentle radiance of a dozen or more tiny wall sconces, Beau Monde gets the bistro idiom right with no help from big-name designers. Caiola and Salama designed the whole thing themselves, enlisting the help of artists Kevin O'Brien (for the curtains), Bob Phillips (for the super-macho iron-and-mirror chandeliers) and Jason Roth and Yoko Grosshams (for the intricate tile-work around the fireplace). Salama, a Tyler School of Arts grad before he became a crepe-meister, is responsible for I the gilded panels which line the dining room, each painted with a lyrical motif of vines and leaves, pears and berries.

For the first-time visitor, the menu's a little overwhelming. Adhering to the formula of the true Breton creperie, Beau Monde offers two types of crepe: ble noir (buckwheat flour) savory crepes and froment (wheat flour) crepes for dessert. The daunting part is deciding what to have your crepe stuffed with. Two dozen savory fillings are offered, from a simple flavored butter to a meal-in-a-crepe boeuf bourguignon. In between, there's smoked salmon, salsa verde, grilled vegetables, creme fraiche, ham and a dozen other varied choices. Thoughtfully, the owners have listed 10 house recommendations which group complementary ingredients together.

We started out with some non-crepe offerings: a mild spinach and arugula salad ($7), made interesting with the addition of roasted beets and hazelnuts; and a delicious, traditional French onion soup ($5) with the requisite melted Emmenthal cheese atop a broth-soaked hunk of baguette.

Following the chef's good counsel, I chose a shrimp, spinach, roasted leek and seafood-sauce crepe ($12.50), and enjoyed its rich, buttery, white-wine-infused flavor. Because the filling is largely hidden within the crepe, I imagine that less honorable creperies might be tempted to stint on ingredients. Not so at Beau Monde.

           

As you pass through Beau Monde's parted velvet curtains, you'll be met with a romantic, welcoming scene worthy of a Left Bank bistro.

My crepe, folded into a square that covered the entire plate and was pleasingly full of plump, pink shrimp. The combination of earthy spinach and sweet, onion-y leek was interesting, though left to my own devices I think I would have picked one or the other rather than both. Still, to have such an embarrassment of greens in a crepe is impressive testimony to their reinvention for the new millennium.

My husband's andouille sausage crepe with ratatouille and herb butter ($9.50) had an authentically rustic feel to it. I could picture the hardy Bretons sitting down after a hard day's work to this no-nonsense stew of eggplant, tomato and zucchini chunks spiced up with slices of smoked sausage.

I'd heard a lot about Beau Monde's desserts, and though one crepe is really quite sufficient for me, in the spirit of inquiry I ordered a poached pear crepe with chestnut cream and toasted almonds ($8.75). The wheat-flour crepe was softer than its buckwheat counterpart, without its faintly crisp resistance to the bite, but was just as light and appealing. The filling was a letdown: the pears too firm, still, and the chestnut cream - that delectable, sweet, nutty paste the French love so well - was barely there at all.

We had better luck with our second choice: fresh, seasonal berries (blackberries, strawberries, blueberries) folded into a crepe with shaved white chocolate ($8.25). This one had the gooey, syrupy goodness of fruit simmered long enough to release its flavors and juices, its tarter notes mellowed by the chocolate and the sweet chantilly topping.

Desserts can be ordered sans crepe as a sundae in a glass. I'd probably go that route next time. Light as they are, these crepes still pack a lot of starch and we were starting to feel a little doughy by the end of the meal.

Regardless, this charming and innovative corner restaurant is good for Philadelphia, good for the neighborhood and good for Franco-American relations. It's also good for the toddler set. The dancing flames in the fireplace keep little ones entranced, and crepes have to be just about the perfect finger-food. And with South Street just a block away, odds are good that patrons will witness the added thrill of a cop car racing by, sirens blasting. Now how often do you see that on the Left Bank?

Food: * *

Service: * * *

Ambience: * * * *

Cuisine: Authentic French crepes.

Price: Depends on the fillings you order, but it's hard to spend more than $12 for an entree crepe.

Hours: Tue.-Fri.: 12 p.m. 11 p.m.; Sat.-Sun.: 10 a.m.-11 P.M