Les Routiers: France’s No-Nonsense Truck Stops

Big Portions, Fast Hospitality, and a Slice of Working France

A friend of mine was in town recently, excited to check out French truck stops: Les Relais Routiers. I had told him about them before—how they feel like a slice of working-class France, unpretentious, lively, and serving up classic, no-nonsense French food – and a lot of it. I’ve been into several in different parts of the country.

These places aren’t tourist traps or curated bistros; they exist for the people who keep France running—truckers, tradesmen, road-trippers—all looking for big portions, fair prices, and a meal that actually tastes like something. He was into it, and so was my wife, so off we went to see if they lived up their reputations.

a regular rhythm

We pulled into a packed parking lot at noon—trucks, white vans, and regulars who looked like they’d been coming here for years. Like most restaurants in town, it followed a familiar rhythm: by 12:30pm, totally full, by 1:30, nearly empty—everyone back to work, except for the few lingering over a drinking lunch (a time-honored tradition).

Some French friends dismissively call them “the place for andouillette and tête de veau and all that,” which isn’t wrong—but they all have their own kind of charm. At least 2-3 prix-fixe options might include cassoulet, hearty stews, and the kind of homey, stick-to-your-ribs dishes that feel like they’ve been made the same way for generations, even if the view is just a parking lot or a highway.

home-style food, fast, and cheap.

It felt like a bistro of the past—fast, solid food for working people who needed to eat well and move on. The crowd, 95% men, mostly tradesmen, sat alone or in groups, all reasonably social. Two plumbers next to me discussed smart heating systems—possibly the only ones talking about work.

We visited one official Relais Routiers in Nantes and another that, while not officially part of the network, fits the bill as a solid working-class food spot.

The first, once on the city's outskirts, is now surrounded by Nantes' ever-expanding, perpetually under-construction sprawl—a mix of charmless cubes with the occasional colorful façade with a lot of concrete mixing trucks milling about. But the restaurant is worth it.

Relais Routier are scattered across France, peaking at over 3,500 in the 1970s. Today, that number has dropped to around 1,600, as highways, fast food, and different travel habits have reshaped the landscape.

Les Routiers are their own world within France’s food culture, filling the gap in travel food. Rest stops vary wildly, from great sandwiches to vending machines dispensing coffee and tomato soup, of all things, from the same spout—which tastes exactly how you’d expect. Les Routiers, at least, maintain a standard.

Technically, this is “fast food” in france

Unlike American highway fast food, you won’t find plastic-wrapped sandwiches or endless soda fountains here. Instead, you walk past a full bar and into a large, open, cafeteria-like setting—functional, fast, and feeding people well. They’re also a kind of social hub in more remote locations.

It feels more like a cafeteria or a streamlined food court—chaotic yet efficient, where speed and familiar quality come first. The menu is short and reliable - these are all dishes you’ve seen before; the service fast but not rushed.

It’s also the only place in France where I’ve gotten a €1 espresso or a half-carafe of wine.

You pay up front, choosing your appetizer, main, dessert, wine or coffee, and any extras (you can often add a shower to your order, if you need to). Then you walk into the dining area. Stand around awkwardly a moment (which I excel at) and someone will find you a seat.

QC by truckers

Quality stays high for a reason—look for the blue and red sign, the stamp of authenticity. Les Relais Routiers maintain strict standards, with 10-15% of locations losing certification each year if they’re not up to par.

Truckers themselves keep them in check—the original inspectors were volunteer drivers, stopping in to eat and judge.

Many of those inspectors still are routiers still. If the food has slipped or prices creep up too high, the sign is gone. Brutal, but effective.

Losing the Relais Routiers sign isn’t permanent, but earning it back is tough. A restaurant must fix its flaws and apply for reevaluation. Inspector truckers then return anonymously to judge if it’s up to standard. If it passes, the sign is restored. If not, tough luck—truckers won’t go out of their way for an iffy meal and ratings matter when the only information they have are reviews.

These aren’t like American truck stops, which double as roadside attractions with truck washes, repair shops, and other amenities you won’t find at a Routiers. No repairs, just food and lodging.

A Brief History

François de Saulieu de la Chomonerie was not someone you’d expect to revolutionize trucker culture. Born into aristocracy in 1907, he could have spent his entire life never even seeing a trucker. Instead, he became fascinated by the unsung heroes keeping France moving—drivers grinding out brutal hours on bad roads with little support and worse food.

It was the last point that drove de Saulieu. A lack of respect was one thing, but a lack of dignity and a lack of good food compelled him to act.

This was the golden age of road culture—the Michelin Guide was sending wealthy motorists to fine dining spots - they awarded their first star in 1926, and in the U.S., Route 66 was turning the highway into something almost mythical.

De Saulieu created a guide in 1934 that launched Les Relais Routiers. It listed affordable, reliable restaurants for truckers around the country, ensuring they had a place to eat well on the road. He worked directly with restaurant owners, setting standards for quality, price, and hospitality.

He even invented the term for the drivers. Before de Saulieu, “routier” wasn’t even a common term for them.

By 1939, 2,000 of them had popped up across France, offering fair prices, solid meals, and a sense of camaraderie.

During World War II, many even became part of the Resistance, with truckers smuggling fighters across borders—often hidden under piles of potatoes. (We really don’t talk enough about how much of French history revolves around food. And why multiple sources say “smuggled under potatoes,” or similar, but only potatoes.)

Routier/Trucker Culture

By the 1970s, as France’s highway system expanded, so did the network, adapting to serve the increasing number of long-haul truckers and more road-tripping families. After more paid vacation in France was increased to 4 weeks/year in 1969.

Around the same time, trucking was also booming in the U.S., but instead of fueling better roadside meals, it sparked a full-blown pop culture craze.

The U.S. embraced trucker culture with CB radio slang, outlaw heroes, and high-speed chases. It changed the language, good buddy. Convoy (1975) set the stage, but Smokey and the Bandit (1977) took it to another level. There was even an uptick in real-life car chases as faster, cheaper cars could outrun the cops. No license plate cameras, speed cameras or instant background checks. And no protocols for the police to not engage in wildly dangerous high speed pursuits, which should have been the real lesson from Smokey and the Bandit.

Meanwhile, in France? No Convoy, no CB subculture, no Smokey and the Bandit—just a solid meal, a cheap glass of wine, and back on the road. France had some movies with car chases, but they just didn’t have the same kind of impact.

Not the chases, anyway.

Smokey and the Citizen’s Band (CB) Radio

The plot of Smokey and the Bandit, as the theme song cheerfully explains, is simple: haul 400 cases of Coors beer from Texarkana to Georgia and back in 28 hours while Buford T. Justice (played by Jackie Gleason) gives chase and they leave a trail of utter destruction in their wake.

The beer itself was only worth about $4,000 in 1977 money. And the song says, the route was from Texarkana to Atlanta, which is only 10 hours one way. It’s a great caper movie, but they’re really bad smugglers. Or Coors is a metaphor for cocaine, which would explain the stakes of the movie better.

Meanwhile, the production burned through 12 Trans Ams worth $65,472, plus at least three wrecked cop cars. Burt Reynolds admitted to being personally responsible for several of the crashes that had little to do with filming.

But burt Reynolds was at the height of his popularity and only one other movie made more money in 1977: Star Wars.