Crocodile Is the Weirdest Restaurant Chain in France

Most restaurant chains are based on a concept that is relatively easy to grasp. When you walk into a Buffalo Grill, for example, you're clearly there to eat like a cowboy. The Western décor, with all its subtle accents, and the saloon doors guarding the toilets, ensure that the intended effect will elude no one. Other places are similarly self-explanatory: You know that KFC sells fried chicken from Kentucky, that Burger King is literally the king of all burgers, and that you can score some "Hard Rock Café" t-shirts when you go to a Hard Rock Café. And the list goes on, because communication—in other words, marketing—is the key to success for any restaurant.

On the other hand, if I say "Crocodile," that probably won't mean anything to you.

Except if you are from northern France—the very region where one will find most of the establishments belonging to this restaurant chain with the rather-difficult-to-grasp concept.

Having grown up in the north, I know that customers go to Crocodile for two things: the all-you-can-eat cold buffet, and the fact that they can eat inside a train. OK, when I say, "train," I really mean train car, and when I say "train car," you should actually picture an old, repurposed wagon. This is what you'll find at every restaurant, and you can eat inside of it—it's their trademark.

And this is where things get a tad confusing. What do crocodiles have to do with it? In fact, where are the crocodiles? Is the CEO an old railroader? Can customers under 25 get a discount? "Not at all. The train wagon is there to create an atmosphere, a customer experience," explains the group's marketing rep. Apparently, "people who come here aren't necessarily drawn to trains; they come for the general ambience, the all-you-can-eat buffets…" As it turns out, the name "Crocodile" is an obscure reference to a train engine model, which was produced at the beginning of the 20th century and sported a crocodile-green tint. What a beautiful tribute.

Recently, I decided to go back. It had been almost a decade since I'd stepped foot in the place. The decor has changed a little, but the buffet and the train wagons are still there. Most people inside have grey hair and a waistline that indicates they might be going slightly overboard with the never-ending buffet.

When I was little, my mom sometimes reserved one of the private train compartments as a special treat for my sister and me. You can close off the space with a sliding door that has tinted windows. I wonder now if couples book those compartments for special occasions. In any case, the atmosphere with my family was far from romantic: Once or twice, my grandmother found the intimate setting suitable for an impromptu baby tooth extraction. All the while, my mom would be wrapping the better portion of our bone-in ham into a napkin to take it home on the sly. Might as well make the most of that all-you-can-eat buffet.

They were out of bone-in ham on the day I went, so I filled up on Serrano instead. I grabbed a tiny portion of the wakame mussel salad (a little too exotic for my taste), and a slice of their very good pâté. I stayed away from the smoked mackerel.

Aesthetically speaking, there is a definite resemblance between the Crocodile buffet and cookbook illustrations from the 70s and 80s. The food here isn't inside metal pans, but atop trays and terrine dishes arranged with decorative foliage. And the offerings are rather unique, as evidenced by the contents of my plate. Though they've clearly made an effort to update the decor, the timeless classics on hand adequately fulfill their function (and one's stomach), and give the place its old-school character.

For the main course, Crocodile offers a selection of pretty strange meats—kangaroo is one example. Across the border, deer is served at the chain's Belgian establishments. I opted for wild boar meat. I never knew that a baby boar is as delicious as it is cute.

My sister ordered beef carpaccio, which was brought to the table in several portions and eventually totaled no less than six trays. The meal went on and on. We could have staged a remake of Groundhog Day, titled, A Day Without Hunger, in which the main character is stuck on a train and forced to eat one plate of carpaccio after another until she passes out from exhaustion. While I dreamt up this scenario, we watched the only young, childless couple there make their exit. They snapped a selfie in front of the train wagon on their way out—most likely to pique the curiosity of their social networks.

While the restaurant is considered a "family" place, there aren't exactly a bunch of kids screaming and scurrying down the aisles. It's a "family" atmosphere to the extent that grandparents stop in during the week (for the weekday discount), and bring the grandkids out on the weekends.

Those with a little room left can always go for seconds and thirds at the buffet, which only closes between 3 and 6 PM . Drink refills are also free—wine and beer included, to make everything go down easier.

Dessert, too, is all-you-can-eat, so even champion eaters will have their limits tested here. I gave it my all and had a taste: floating island, chocolate mousse, vanilla cream puffs… I had a hard time getting up after all that, but they were all delicious and it was worth making some room for them.

At the end of the meal, I still couldn't understand what the restaurant theme was, but I didn't care anymore. I had a good time, I tasted interesting things, and most of all, I was beyond satiated. And those three things are probably the recipe for Crocodile's continued success.

After leaving the premises, we went for a digestive walk through the International Cat Show, which was taking place nearby. Another unique, unforgettable event that I will have to write about one day, to better exorcise the experience.