Food reigns supreme in French culture. The quality of ingredients is stunning, the variety of specialty food shops is mind-blowing, and there are tons of fabulous restaurants at one’s disposal. Along with this celebration of all things culinary comes an unspoken litany of rituals, with corresponding rules, governing eating. Some of these rules are easy to detect, while others have taken a few months to discover. And while I love the amazing food France has to offer, these rules often clash with my own tastes.
For one, the French have strictly designated what’s appropriate for each meal. Petit déjeuner (breakfast) generally consists of fresh bread or pastry, along with a variety of confitures (jams) and sweet spreads. I can’t eat a buttery croissant drenched in strawberry jam for the first meal of the day all that often (once in a blue moon at most)...it’s just too much sugar. Sure, some French eat a bit lighter, opting for yogurt and cereal (like I do), but it’s far more normal to make an early morning stop by the boulangerie for a pain chocolat (chocolate croissant) than it is to cut up a cantaloupe. For déjeuner (lunch), it’s entirely appropriate to have a large, three-course meal. I can’t eat that much in the middle of the day and am usually content with a sandwich or salad, plain and simple. This has drawn the curiosity of food establishment proprietors and French co-workers alike: “C’est tout? Pas de dessert? Pourquoi?” (That’s all? No dessert? WHY?!?!)
Dinner is closer to what we can expect in the States—you can go as big or as small as you’d like. Pfew, at least I fit in for one meal out of three. However, if you do opt for a full, sit-down, multi-course dinner, beware: you cannot proceed entirely as you prefer. In France, it is customary to have entrée, dish, dessert, and then—ONLY then—coffee. I’m an American, dammit, and in America we like to have coffee with dessert. This is a habit I’m reluctant to break and I’ve therefore gotten into minor arguments with servers, who refuse to bring me coffee with my dessert. In my view, I’m a paying customer—I should therefore get my coffee whenever I want it. But no, in France these rituals are so entrenched and so strong, that even a paying customer can be told she’s wrong and will receive the coffee when it’s appropriate. (Remember from my previous posts—it’s customer non-service, people. The customer is never king.) As an amusing counterpoint, a student once mentioned that on her one visit to the States, she found it so strange that everyone was drinking coffee WITH their lunches. Of course, from her perspective, one must only drink coffee at the very end of a meal…or during a 20-minute work break.
Similarly, the French observe rules governing acceptable snack foods. A co-worker once chastised Nate for his choice of accoutrement for a lunchtime sandwich. In France, there is the highly-practiced ritual of apero (short for aperitif), a pre-dinner cocktail hour similar to happy hour but not with reduced drink prices. During this period, people flock to cafes, bars, and restaurants to grab drinks and snack on the customary nibbles of peanuts, pretzels, chips, olives, and other little bites. People also serve such items during the apero period of a dinner party. So imagine N’s co-worker’s consternation when he noticed N munching on a bag of chips with his sandwich: “C’est pas possible! Qu’est-ce que tu fais?” (That’s ridiculous. What are you doing?!) After delivering an unwarrantedly heated “argument” about when it’s appropriate to eat chips, the co-worker stormed off, leaving a bemused N thinking, OK, midday is not when you want to eat chips, but why can’t I? Like me, N does not want to eat a big, honkin’ slice of chocolate cake with his lunch.
The French are also particular in their approach to eating. It is NOT acceptable to eat dinner food with one’s hands. It’s all knife and fork action, no matter what the dish. Just the other night, I observed a woman at a neighboring table spend the entire time we were in the restaurant (which was a while, mind you) meticulously eating her burger and fries with knife and fork. I didn’t know it was possible to be so regimented about eating a burger. First, she dissected the top half of the bun. Then the pickle. Then the fries. Finally she was left with the actual burger, which she picked at bird-like until it was finally done. (Lady, if the burger was meant to be deconstructed, it would be presented that way.) And this is not considered abnormal or weird. People meticulously eat pizza and some sandwiches with knife and fork, too. Does that make Americans slobs? Perhaps. But sometimes finger food is just finger food.
As you can see, meals are not meant to be eaten in a hurry here. The French love to sit over a three-hour meal, savoring each bite. This is not something I have a problem with at all. But it’s funny to see how this practice has seeped into their patronage of American eateries. From what I hear, the French will spend up to an hour eating at a McDonald’s. And man, they love McD’s, supposedly for the exoticism of it all. They also love Starbucks! Initially, this surprised me, as France obviously nurtures a strong coffee culture in which coffee is NEVER taken to go; rather, one can sit with one café crème for hours in any given café or can get a quick shot of espresso at the café bar. So why were all the Starbucks packed every time I walked by one? Because people still do not take their coffee to go, but instead, they sit with their frappuccinos as long as they would at a traditional French café. The difference is, they don’t have to wait for ages until they can flag down a server for the bill (so apparently the French can be as impatient with this as us Americans!).
Another item that is not usually taken to go is a bottle of water. Sometimes you see people toting small bottles of Evian or the like, but certainly not the larger Nalgene bottle that I brought here from the States—it’s a reusable, sturdy, colored-plastic bottle that I can refill endlessly to keep myself hydrated at all times and not waste plastic. Well. Many of my students have been curious about this strange bottle I carry around with me. One student was so mystified by this foreign object that it became a much-longer-than-necessary topic of conversation. But…what was it? What was inside? Was the water turquoise (she couldn’t get past the color of the bottle)? Why did I carry it around with me? But didn’t I want a glass to pour the water into? She actually insisted on this point. She couldn’t fathom how I could drink out of such a large container. See, the French also favor small things, with small water glasses being a principle “small thing.” I don’t need a 64-ouncer, of course, but drinking in quantities equivalent to a shot isn’t sufficient either.
See, just when I think I can slightly blend in, I order a small lunch, request coffee with my dessert, or take a big swig of water from my trusty Nalgene and BAM, I have pretty much just painted an American flag on my forehead. Sorry, there are some of my own rules I am not willing to let go of.
Maybe this is why people continue to marvel over my brightly-colored Nalgene reusable plastic water bottle. I mentioned last week that it really baffles my students. I continue to get comments, as frequently as every other day. What do they think I’m carrying in the bottle? Perfume? Plasma? Petrol?! I mean, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist…I thought white people were supposed to like water bottles. At least on my former side of the pond, anyway.
