Had another run up to Senlis, or rather somewhat to the north of it on the old Route National which runs alongside the A1, this week with 3 more lucky stray dogs now bound for new homes in Holland.
I hand them over to an English woman and her Dutch husband who organise that side of the operation. The rendezvous is Le Ratelier in the village of Blincourt, one of the old style routiers (the building, possibly if the old signage is anything to go by, also as a hostelerie, dates from 1802). Outside there is an extensive park and, such is the popularity of this watering hole, the patron or someone else comes out towards mealtimes to make sure everyone parks close and prettily.
On my first trip there a couple of months ago he directed me to park close by the wall near the resto under a security light and out of the way of the arriving heavy metal. Thus I went straight to it this time and, after handing over my charges and, with the assistance of the giant Dutchman (aren’t they all these days?) had soon stored the collapsed cages and dog bedding out of my way on the roof. My bed then made inside it was into the bar for my first kir. The meal is €12.80 and the coffee a normal €1.20 but the kir is a bit over the top at €2.20 and, after a couple of those, that bumps the overall cost up a bit.
The meal though is good and well worth it. You help yourself to starters from the vitrine on the way in and then find a table. This is where the place parts company from tradition and, in my view, loses its way. The largest table is a 6 seater, many are 4 or even 2 and the drivers behave like Brits in a transport caff (you know the old joke, if there are 13 tables when the 13th driver arrives the place is full 
); the reason for this modern aberration? The bloody telly on the wall. 
I pick a seat where I can barely see it next to a bloke who I then find out behaves almost like that awful ad for furniture before Coronation Street comes on. I half expected peas to come flying past my face as he missed his mouth not daring to miss a single instant of the moronic game show above. 
The initial grunted ‘bon appetit’ was the last I heard from him the whole meal and I looked round the room. All heads craned at weird angles, it’s a wonder there wasn’t a mass cramp attack. There was some conversation but it was sparse.
At last another bloke sat between me and the wall, absolutely impossible to see the box from there so I said ‘I take it you don’t like TV then?’ and at last I managed to get some conversation about non-boring things, like, lorries, loads, places, patrons etc. the usual. Thank goodness. 
He was from the Pays Basque and loaded for Bordeaux and we agreed that although the latest restrictions on the N10 south of Poitiers were a pain it was still preferable over the autoroute and further agreement was reached on the best place to stop in Bordeaux, The Albatross, under the Pont Aquitaine in a street with a row of restos and despite the lack of offstreet parking. I slowed down to match his pace and we finished the rouge on offer and strolled back to the bar for the petit cafés before wandering back to our respective berths.
I know that most places have TV these days but never have I been in a place in France where drivers were so insular because of it, perhaps La Patronne’s bad organisation of the tables and refusal to direct drivers where to sit, the normal way, is to blame. A pity. It is a good place to eat.
I first knew it many, many years ago when I learned that queueing up at Péronne services and flashing your little red and blue membership card wasn’t the best way to eat in France and that, if I could manage another 80 odd kms and get onto the old road there was really good grub to be had. In those far off days we all sat together in a great hubbub of conversation, warmed in winter by the log fire roaring in the great inglenook fireplace. Today the fireplace is still there but boarded up and cold. 
In the morning I awoke and reluctantly left the comfy warmth of my bed and only discovered how the clear blue sky had replaced last night’s rain when I realised that one door was frozen shut 
and the whole vehicle covered in a sheet of ice. Into the bar where the Patron commented on my non appearance last time when I left at 2.30 am to beat the traffic on the Peripherique. That worked that time but it wasn’t worth it, I didn’t get my morning wake-up coffee for 3 hours at Chateau Gaillard. This time it was aller/retour on the Cent-Quatre (N & A 104, further but quicker) and so today, a much more relaxed departure. 
So, if you want to eat well on the way to Paris, leave the A1 at gate 10 and take the N31 west towards Beauvais. At the 2nd roundabout, turn left on the D1017 to the routiers in a few minutes on the left. And if you want conversation, don’t arrive too early and sit as close to the wall under the telly as possible and you will soon meet a like minded soul. And if your French isn’t up to it, sorry, no Brits, but plenty of Dutchmen know a good thing, and you know how many languages they can get their tongues around.
