I have been known to follow the scent of a crêpe into the depths of an unfamiliar Parisian neighborhood thereby compromising our timely arrival for dinner with friends; into the longest line in Saint-Malo—in August around the French holiday, Assomption—at one of Brittany’s oldest and clearly busiest crêperies; and into the intricate maze of the Tuesday market on a very blustery November day in Vaison-la-Romaine. I adore those thin French pancakes and when the scent of a crêpe wafts past my nose,...