I've been to Brittany, the homeland of crêpes; I've been to Paris and Provence, where there are crêpe carts on every corner. Hell, I've even eaten crêpes in Mexico City. But these crêpes, sheeted with something that's billed a creamed spinach sauce, ballooned with crappy ingredients and plated with dry hash browns and three squares of watermelon (that's the "fresh fruit" you're promised on the menu), would make a true Frenchman fall off the Eiffel Tower in despair.
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