I left Southern Pines on a wet, gray day, after a week-long writing residency at the stately Weymouth Center for the Arts and Humanities. Departing on a day like this is preferable to leaving on a sunny day when the blue skies beckon walks in the gardens and surrounding woods. Each time I leave Weymouth, I drive down Broad Street one last time to savor the of charm of this historic North Carolina town and to take in the lovely shops, boutiques, and cafes. On the corner of Broad St. and Pennsylvania Ave. is Betsy’s Crepes, a legendary eatery among the writers who stay at Weymouth.
Betsy’s Crepes in the Corner of Broad St. and Pennsylvania Ave. in Southern PInes, NC.
A parking spot opened in front of Betsy’s Crepes, sure a sign for me to stop. Having been immersed in the south of France with my novel’s protagonist who is a budding chef, it seems the ideal place for a lunch before the two-hour drive ahead of me. I pulled into the parking spot and hauled in my computer bag thinking I’ll do a bit of editing while I wait.
Inside the charming café are several booths along the wall, as well as wooden tables of various sizes and shapes. The tables and chairs don’t match, an affect that always warms my heart in small cafes. A decorative tin- or copper-pressed ceiling looks authentic, painted now with white, the side molding painted a warm teal. Sparking white lights are strung this way and that, while pendant lights hang over tables. A far wall in the second dining area is lined with copper saucepans along the red-brick wall. The decor is much how I’d imagined the small restaurant in which my protagonist will work.
Inside Betsy’s a sign welcomes guests to seat themselves. I chose a small table by the front window so I can people watch passersby on the sidewalk. A waiter appeared moments later and handed me a menu. He asked if I want coffee. I point to the vacuum cup I’ve brought in with my own private brew and explain it’s for health reasons (it is) and his smile is genuine when he says, “All good.”
I haven’t seen such a wide variety of crepes since I lived in Newport Beach, California and frequented a small café where my favorite dessert of all time was a crepe called “Chocolate Coconut Fantasy.” It was a crepe rolled over a brick of creamy vanilla ice cream, topped with hot chocolate sauce, roasted almond slivers, and toasted coconut. There may have been a cherry. My roommates and I would go there for a cup of French onion soup for lunch, then gorge on the Chocolate Coconut Fantasy.
Each time I go to a crepe restaurant I scan the sweet column for a chocolate coconut fantasy clone. I’ve never yet found one. I’ve tried to recreate it at home, but it never holds up to my memory. Betsy’s has a commendable variety of sweet crepes, but alas, no Chocolate Coconut Fantasy.
I ordered Le Greco, a savory crepe with two eggs, ham, marinated artichoke hearts, black olives, spinach and feta (in Provence, it would be niçoise olives and emmental cheese). Ordinarily the eggs are scrambled and folded into this crepe. I asked to have them poached medium (they don’t do poaching), but settled with basted medium. The waiter said, “But they might break when the crepe is folded.” I replied it would be just fine, for I planned to break them immediately to let the warm, golden yolks infuse the other ingredients. He smiled widely, and said, “Ha, I get it!” He then asked if I wanted a regular crepe, a buckwheat crepe, or a whole wheat crepe. Since I’m a carb watcher, the whole wheat crepe was a no-brainer.
Le Greco Crepe from Betsy’s Crepes. Photo by Carolyn Burns Bass
Before I can even login to Betsy’s wi-fi, my crepe arrived. Golden and puffy, though its rustic rectangle isn’t impressive. A garnish of orange, a curl of kale, a drizzle of something (hollandaise?) across the top or below, would elevate the presentation from “Huh?” to “Wow!”
A garden of yumminess pours from Le Greco crepe. Photo by Carolyn Burns Bass
I cut straight into the middle and felt the eggs pop, the sunny yolk oozing into the ham, olives, spinach and artichokes. I didn’t see any feta, but I later found a clump of feta on one end of the crepe. (I hate when cooks in their rush, toss a scoop of something which lands in a glump and never spreads throughout the dish. Burritos benders are famous for this.) Except for the eggs, the other ingredients tasted as if they were cold when folded in with the hot eggs. Despite these picayune notations, I eat each morsel of my crepe with pleasure, planning my next visit to Betsy’s Crepes when I return to Weymouth.
Betsy’s Crepes
127 SW Broad St.
Southern Pines, NC 28387
910-246-2406