Every time I go to Mirepoix (about half and hour from us) I pass this building and waver dangerously in the road for a moment wondering whether to stop: such is it's allure for me, an ardent fan of ancient eateries and bars.
This time I stopped as Ezra wanted to go and look at the ghost tracks of the railway that would have traversed the landscape between Bram and Mirepoix (why, why, why did they dispose of this incredibly useful connection . . . subject of another post!)
We hesitated by the doorway while I asked if we could bring the dogs in. The owner looked unimpressed, but softened as he noticed the tiny three-legged runt dog. Satie has his uses . . . Once you get beyond the: "Mais, Madame . . . what happened to his leg?" questions, you can ask lots of others back, like: "how long have you owned the café, is that a picture of you hunting with your own faithful hound, and do you serve chips, etc.
The owner and his mates were so taken by both dogs that The Wife had to be called to inspect them. We had a long chat about dog types, what The Spanish do to their hunting dogs (Gala, see previous posts, is one of these) and life in Moulin Neuf.
We finished our drinks, took photos of the wonderful interior and bade a cheerful goodbye, after suggesting that they never change so much as a drawing pin of the place. He assured us that nothing would ever be replaced, painted or disposed of while he was captain there.