Yesterday was another gray drizzle. Today is even worse. Well, it’s March in Maine, and as I’ve previously noted, that’s just the way things are. (Note to out-of-state readers: Don’t plan a trip to Maine in March, at least not for the scenery.) But my friend Sybil Baker and I defied the dreary day and went on a road trip to Lewiston, Maine, about a half hour from where I live. First, to Bates College to see Bound to Art, a rare books exhibit, and then out to lunch at a snappy restaurant called Marché. As it turned out, the exhibit, lunch, and, of course, the company were such treats that the gray day didn’t matter at all. 

Sybil and I started with Bound to Art at the Bates College Museum of Art. This small but fascinating exhibit of illustrated books comes from the rare books collection held by the Edmund S. Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library at Bates College. Along with the wonderful illustrations—which included birds, anatomy, scenes from Dante’s The Divine Comedy, the bible, nature, even abstract art—what this exhibit showed was the astonishing range of illustrated books. Techniques such as woodblock, engraving, etching, lithography, and silk screen all produce very different looks, but I find beauty and interest in them all. I’m tempted to say the woodblock prints were my favorites, but then when I saw John Gould’s shimmering birds—hand-colored lithographs—I was smitten.  

So why choose? Why not admire them all? I lingered over Clare Leighton’s The Farmer’s Year: A Calendar of English Husbandry (wood engraving) and Brian Hanscomb’s Cornwall: An Interior Vision (copper plate), as well as John Gould’s birds. 

From there, it was on to Marché, on 40 Lisbon St. in Lewiston. I had never been there before, but Katherine Stefko, the curator of Bound to Art, had recommended it, so off we went. 

And we were very glad we did. The late great Julia Child seems to be Marché’s patron saint. In Salon bleu—a blue dining room with one massive dark wood table surrounded by many, many chairs—a flat screen T.V. showed a young Julia Child in what must have been an early cooking show. The volume was turned off, but what a pleasure just to watch that woman slice onions. 

Marché’s lunch menu includes soups, salads, and sandwiches, but I was there for the crepes, and so was Sybil. On Marché’s website, it reads: “Each crepe is made from Julia Child’s original recipe.” 

These are not empty words. I don’t remember the last time I had such incredible crepes. In Quebec, I think, many, many years ago. The crepes came just the way I like them—gloriously thin and stuffed to the gills with sauce and ingredients. In my case, tender shaved steak and sautéed mushrooms, and in Sybil’s case, chicken and white beans. Juicy. Tender. Flavorful. I ate every bit of mine, and Sybil finished hers, too. 

Was I too full for the dessert crepe with Nutella and (real!) whipped cream? I was not. Sybil had one bite, and I unabashedly gobbled down the rest. 

And here’s the really amazing thing. Two crepes and two drinks came to $14, and if this isn’t the best lunchtime deal in Maine, then it sure must come close. 

Marché has two dining areas— Salon bleu and an adjacent room with conventional tables and seating arrangements. Because all the smaller tables were full, Sybil and settled at the massive table in Salon bleu, and we’re glad we did. Across from us sat a young woman, hugely pregnant, and her mother. With gusto, they ate crepes and soup and more crepes. 

We struck up a conversation, and I asked the young woman when she was due. 

“Anytime,” she said, smiling serenely. 

“The contractions are 20 minutes apart,” her mother added. 

I actually felt my eyes fill with tears for this young woman who was in the early stages of labor. What better way to get ready for new life than to have crepes at Marché?

No, the day didn’t seem gray at all.