Crepe Expectations: MacDougal Street Gets Even More Euro with "Creperie"

When I first saw that panini-pushing Press Toast was closing up
the street from me on MacDougal, I immediately said to myself in a disturbing Freddie Mercury voice, "Another one bites the dust!”

I’ve walked by this place a million times, none of which ever marked by the urge to stop in and see what it was all about. Maybe it was the ridiculously loud music, or the super-cramped quarters, or who knows really. Something was amiss.

After a few days of inactivity, I could only assume the merciless suction of the vacuous abyss that is the Village food scene proved too much for this feisty little bodega, which, at this point, I regretted not having tried at least once.

I had always wondered when the thumping Reggaeton music constantly emanating from this walk-in closet of a space would finally squash the quiet hum of the intermittent patronage it seemed to enjoy.

Of course in today’s revolving restaurant nation, a stubbornly high mortality rate is compromised only by an uncanny sense of resurrection. The end of one life marks the beginning of another.

So over the course of the last few weeks, ailing Press Toast has died and come back as a creperie, calling itself, fittingly, Creperie. Still the size of a Public Storage unit, a vibrant paint job, textured walls, and new lipstick red counters and stools, together eek every last of zest out of what little square footage there is here to work with.

The menu is pretty comprehensive, essentially offering a large variety of made-to-order savory and sweet crepes. It’s as simple as that. You can opt for their pre-determined creations, or choose to build your own (which when it comes to crepes, is always the best way to go.)

At the beck and call of Meghan’s Stalin-esque sweet tooth, my classic lemon and sugar crepe got the kibosh quicker than a piece of Bush-sponsored legislation. Instead, our “Murphy” crepe encased a tasty compilation of rich raspberry compote, almond slivers, and velvety dark chocolate. Folded twice, and dusted with powdered sugar, we gladly paid the extra dollar to top it all off with a scoop of good old-fashioned vanilla ice cream.

Neither overfilled nor overcooked to the point of being dry and crispy, this baby hit the spot, and is a good option for those looking for something hassle-free. As you would expect in a neighborhood that is voracious about its vespertine vittles, Creperie is open until 3 AM, 6 nights of the week.

Keeping that in mind, it may sound silly to spend $9 or $10 for this sweet late-night treat when falafel flows freely from neighboring Yatagan’s, Ali Baba’s, and Mamoun’s, all for under 6 bucks (roughly). And while I don’t disagree, I can assure you a morning of guilt-ridden body dysmorphia and raunchy falafel breath is hardly worth the $3 you so proudly saved the night before.

Creperie (formerly Press Toast)
112 MacDougal St