Ever since I morphed into a full-fledged foodie, I have strictly abided to the general rules of restaurant propriety by ordering what an eatery is known for rather than what is merely a menu page filler for picky people who refuse to challenge their palate. Ordering a salad at a restaurant that specializes in crepes is akin to ordering the salmon at Mastro's Steakhouse, the chicken teriyaki at Katsu-ya, or a sugar-free chocolate at See's. It's just wrong.
Aside from my ordering transgression and momentary failure as a foodie/intelligent speciman, I was genuinely pleased with my Creperie experience -- and not just because my mother and I received a table immediately and didn't have to resort to playing "I Spy" to get through the exorbitant amount of time it takes to be seated at most W. Third St. lunch/brunch spots. Can I really blame a restaurant for not putting a menu addendum warning illogical patrons that specialties are specialties for a reason and the Creperie is not called "the Creperie" because it serves good salads? No. I can admit when I'm in the wrong. But only because I'm in the right the other 99.9% of the time.