Opening a small café far from Home

Opening La Crêperie was not a business plan first.

It was a deep, quiet desire. Something felt before it was fully understood.

It needed to remind me of familiar gestures, return to familiar rhythms, to food made with care, to spaces where time is allowed.

When we opened this café, we were far from where I grew up - far from places where food is tied to memory and meals are given time.

Although I am the daughter of Army parents and spent my childhood moving from place to place, France is where my roots were planted.

Here, we weren’t trying to recreate France. We were trying to share a way of being.

A small café made sense to us. Not because it was easier (it is still not), but because it allowed care.

Fewer tables meant attention.

Fewer choices meant clarity.

Every decision had weight because it mattered.

At first we were a little concerned. Some people arrived expecting a faster pace - quick service, quick meals, quick turnover.

It made us pause….

Not to change, but to ask ourselves if we we willing to stay where we stood.

We chose to.

We kept the rhythm slow. We kept the space calm. We kept our standards, even when it would have been easier not to.

We trusted that a place built with intention would eventually be understood.

And it was.

People stay longer. Conversations unfolded. Silence became comfortable.

The room began to do what we hoped it would - welcome without hurrying.

The café was built quietly. With patience. With consistency. With the belief that if you remain faithful to what you value, the right people will find their way in.

We didn’t open a café to follow a model.

We opened La Crêperie to create a place that feels right, for us and for those who sit at our tables.

Staying faithful to the way we think about food itself, because the rhythm of a café is never separate from the culture that created it.