Crêperies of Portland: Le Happy
After serving up the first dinner cooked in my new apartment, a tasty little pasta affair, Diana, Tim, and I set out into the Portland night air to check out Le Happy. Situated on NW 16th, just across the street from the Portland Streetcar maintenance yard, Le Happy is a hip, noisy little crêperie and bar with a yellow facade and a stunningly red interior. Of the three Portland crêperies that I have tried, Le Happy definitely serves up the edgiest menu. Novelty crépes such as “Faux Vegan” (spinach, mushroom sauce, creme fraiche, and goat cheese) and “Le Trash Blanc” (more on this later) nestle in comfortably alongside the staples that all respectable crêpe joints are required to serve.
I ordered a simple strawberry and sugar crêpe. It was overall quite enjoyable, though the strawberries were not as fresh as they could have been. When I ordered it I had been picturing my mother’s excellent strawberry crêpes and I must say that it fell short. I think this was mainly due to a difference of opinion between myself and Le Happy about what “and sugar” entails. You see, my minds eye say strawberries covered with granulated sugar and left to stew in their own juices for a while. Le Happy interpreted it as a generous sprinkling of powdered sugar. Despite this difference of opinion, I feel that Le Happy’s true strength lies in its savory crêpes and I hope to return at some point soon to see how the handle their curry crêpe.
Diana ordered the “Strawberry Chocolat,” which is just what it sounds like (with whipped cream, or course). She said that it was good, but that the place on Hawthorne [Chez Machin] was better.
Tim showed the most daring on this outing, ordering “Le Trash Blanc” itself. I’ll admit that I too was guiltily tempted by its greasy simplicity: bacon and cheddar. As an added bonus, on this crêpe and only this crêpe, Le Happy offers the addition of a Pabst Blue Ribbon beer for a dollar. Tim added the beer. It was the third time since he turned 21 that he had purchased alcohol (a word which, despite (or maybe because of) my years taking chemistry classes, I can never spell right on the first try). I think Diana might have been mildly swooning. “It’s a French quesadilla!” Tim exclaimed after taking a few bites.