What can I say about French coffee? Only that it is always a pleasure, even when it's not the best. I am perfectly qualified to say this after having spent so much time in a coffee-poor place like Kent.

And so was my experience when my mother and I took the SeaCat to Boulogne from Folkestone recently. It was a dark drippy day and we'd never been to Boulogne before. So this is why I can't tell you exactly where Le Royal is located. Suffice it to say you walk straight down the main road, turn right at maybe the second street, and there it is in a half block or so on the right. And there you are, in French Coffee Heaven.

Le Royal Cafe, "Un Grand Cafe de Boulogne" as it says on the cash receipt, is your typical coastal-town brasserie. In the late afternoon I ordered un café noir, petit, avec un sucre, a quel perfect pick-me-up on such a rainy afternoon. And what a fine coffee it was, too, here on the coast of France in the most nonquaint seaside sprawling town of Boulogne. Just an hour earlier -- and a mere block away -- we'd enjoyed an exquisite lunch of moules marinière and saumon. We still had an hour and a half before 5:45, when the SeaCat would take us back to Folkestone. So it was a perfect moment for an afternoon espresso.

Le Royal is a typical French brasserie, well-lit and inviting, with pleasant bartenders and waiters dressed in black and white, elegant chandeliers, and an enticing little elevated table area in the back. The coffee was strong and black, just sweet enough, and perfect. Yes, I realize I haven't really had a bad cup of coffee in France, except perhaps at Hotel Albert Ier in Paris. But isn't this proof that even in a nonpopular border city like Boulogne one can find a perfect cup of coffee? And why is this, I wonder? Well, I'll tell you why: because this is France! And, without being a hardcore Francophile, I can honestly say that the French know how to make one damn fine cup of coffee.

C'est un miracle, non?