Road food

One of the great Australian traditions is road food. Long highway. Servo lights. Hot box glowing in the corner. Pies. Sausage rolls. Fried chicken. Battered savs. Twisties. A Coke that somehow tastes better somewhere west of nowhere. It’s not elegant, but it is deeply satisfying.

So naturally, in France, I went looking for the equivalent.

The closest thing I could find to Twisties were little crunchy snacks called croustilles with Emmental cheese. Pretty good actually. But not nearly unhealthy enough to feel authentic. No fluorescent orange fingers afterwards. No regret. No triumph.

And the bigger difference? Nothing is really hot.

French roadside food is built around baguettes, croissants, pastries and careful little sandwiches. Even at a fuel stop you could assemble an elegant picnic with decent cheese, cured meats, fruit and wine if you weren’t driving. Meanwhile the diesel costs about the same as a minor financial decision.

Australian road food feels like survival fuel for crossing huge distances. French road food feels like somebody quietly expecting you to stop beside a vineyard and appreciate life properly for half an hour.

Vive la différence.