Street food? Whimsels is just too 'creppy'

It was immediately evident that Whimsels was not the creperie I had been expecting. Hoping to assuage the still-fresh pain of losing Ashley's Ice Cream store, this York Street space's brilliant former occupant, I walked in looking for a new raison d'être. Instead, I got "street food."

REBECCA ROSENTHAL/YH Straight from the slums of Shaolin...uh, West 42nd, Whimsels strikes your stomach again!

I was hoping that Whimsels would bring back the old friendly atmosphere that so perfectly facilitated hangin' out and gettin' fat. I realize that it's time to bury Ashley's, not to praise it, but I feel justified in demanding a social sweet spot near campus where students of all ages and budgets can go to be happy. So I am being fair, not just nostalgic, when I say that Whimsels does not cut it.

The name Whimsels is just misleading. Was I wrong to assume that a restaurant with such a name would be, well, whimsical? Ashley's was very whimsical, with customer artwork papering the walls and divine original flavors that tended towards the unexpected. The servings were just a bit too large and the staff was just a tad left of strange. It was so cozy. It was so nice.

So, there I was, with five helpful friends, figuring out how to sit down. Looking at the two small tables and the meager bar seating, I got the sense that "street food" simply meant "go away." Luckily, we got there before the 6:30 p.m. rush and managed to eke out enough space by pushing tables together. Meanwhile, the apathetic counter crew ignored us. The décor was hip—excepting a grim set of photos of the unfinished interior. But it was not whimsical, as we noted with a touch of sadness as we ordered our dinner.

Yes, dinner. Crêpes, perhaps unfortunately, are not just for dessert. Main Street Whimsels are crêpes made from buckwheat batter, a bit hardier than the sweet stuff, and are filled with meats, veggies, and cheeses. Each is named after a world location appropriate to its contents—the New Delhi has curried eggplant, lentils, and coriander yogurt, while the Wooster Street comes with ham, ricotta, and roasted peppers.

I tried the Sonora and really liked it. Filled with eggs, onion, salsa, cheese, and chorizo sausage, this breakfasty combo had great flavor, while its texture agreed perfectly with the lightness of the crêpe. Though I thought the New Dehli was also well-balanced, my fellow diners all complained that balance was lacking from their dishes. Buckwheat crêpes are fairly flavorless affairs, meaning either the taste of the filling is too overpowering, as in the case of the Shanghai's hoisin sauce, or that the wrapper dulls down the entire sensory experience. Worst of all, the servings are only dinner-sized if you've had your stomach stapled. One of my companions did the tour of New Delhi in something like a minute and was left unsatisfied and vaguely angry. Conclusion: crêpes and dinner don't match. I feel bad for shooting down such a creative idea and for insulting a New Haven food that has somehow managed not to be pizza—but I must.

The ire of my disgruntled crew was soothed somewhat when we moved on to dessert. Whimsels also makes the sweet crêpes, the kind that first spring to the average Francophile's mind, though in New Haven we have to call them Side Street Whimsels. Whatever, they're still good.

You've got your dessert crêpes, your ice cream, your baked goods, Italian sodas, hot beverages, fruit, yogurt, and juice. There is a heavenly array of Whimsel toppings, from Nutella to real, thick whipped cream to lemon sugar to shaved chocolate. I made the intelligent choice of strawberry ice cream and a Bangkok, a rice-flour crêpe with grated coconut. This pleased me immensely, but someone else's Lyons definitely took first prize. Warm Nutella and bananas. It turned our little party into a full-blown orgy.

But my world was not so rocked that I failed to notice the one major disappointment—the ice cream. "It was like butter," as Linda Richman would say—like two scoops of butter. Any connoisseur of la glace will tell you that a high butter-fat content is absolutely essential to the quality, but few would neglect to mention that there also have to be some other ingredients. Whimsels ice cream is a bit rich on its own—easier to swallow, though, with a bite of crêpe.

Alas, dear eater, Whimsels is not Ashley's, nor is it particularly good in its own right. But it is kind of good, and if you do decide to visit, you will have a good chance of seeing me outside, smoking a cigarette after yet another round of Lyons.

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