One More Croissant for the Road. Felicity Cloake

neat triangle, with leggy stalks of asparagus snaking out from underneath a blanket of crisply fried coppa on a mattress of melted Parmesan. There’s even a proper salad, with batons of candy beetroot and discs of purple radish, rather than the usual limp green leaves. God, it’s good – the crêpe itself the best I’ve ever tasted, crisp on both sides, but soft within, its earthy flavour gilded with generous amounts of butter. I think I’d love it even without all the bells and whistles on top, delicious as they are.

I confirm to the young waiter that, yes, as the empty plate suggests, I enjoyed it very much, and naturally I have room for pudding, thank you for asking. On the sweet crêpe menu, which is barely less extensive than the savoury one, a summer special of local Plougastel strawberries with vanilla ice cream tempts me, but then my eye alights upon the Bretonne: a scoop of Breton butter biscuit ice cream, sautéed apples and salted caramel sauce, a description that suggests copious amounts of butter. The reality proves even better: there’s a shard of unadvertised almond brittle, plus a buttery little biscuit that crumbles in the mouth like a sweet and salty sandcastle. The crêpe, finer textured and softer than the buckwheat version, is consequently less interesting, though I still manage to polish it off without too much trouble.