The glory, the splendor, the carbs.
That is a ratatouille crepe and it was glorious. Peppers, mushrooms, olives, tomatoes, and I think some sort of cheese sauce. Lovely.
And really, "lovely" is the best word to describe the whole experience at La France (I'm really starting to sound like a restaurant reviewer here. Sorry boutcha.) It's very small, and probably has a staff of about five. But it's cozy!
The head chef is a gregarious Moroccan, so his crepes and tea and pastries are actually not French at all, but I'm not complaining. He's French trained (whatever that means). As soon as you step in the door, you're greeted by this man slaving over the ovens.
It's always Christmas at La France.
He greets you with a hearty "Bonjour madame! BONJOUR BONJOUR BONJOUR!!" Then you sit at your table and enjoy any variety of these delicious things:
Traditional Moroccan mint tea
French onion soup with cheese bread on top
Curry & fig crepe
I've eaten crepes at a really excellent Belgian crepery (that's a word, right?), and I think these are better. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that you should drop whatever you're doing, and head to Lombard Illinois to eat some freaking crepes. I give you license to lie to your boss, ditch your girlfriend, abandon all plans for a girl's night out. What gives me that authority? Nothing. I'm just feeling particularly powerful, and I want to pass out orders.