Eating French

Beers, Arras

In my Airbnb in the XXieme my Parisian host said going inside to pay (see previous post) was a new thing nowadays. Incidentally, the French will rarely bother you by bringing you the bill unasked.  It is seen as rude, a harassment, whereas in America, it is common, being all about table turnover and money. Restauration rapide is, besides, an American way.  Food is fuel, not an end in itself, a means to conviviality, or both.

I am still getting used to the new names for the French region.  The Nord-Pas-de-Calais and Picardy became les Hauts-de-France in 2016. I was there earlier in the week, before Paris on a town twinning visit. I asked the man from the mairie who picked us up at the airport what the regional specialities were.

- Les frites, he said.

- Comment?

- Les frites.

- Vous êtes sérieux? Les frites sont une spécialité de la région?

- Eh oui. 

- Ah bon?

It seemed too that fast food was on the rise in France.  

Et pourquoi?

- Ben, les gens ont moins de temps.
- So do you no longer have the “pause” entre midi et deux?  I knew they did.

- Si, si, on l'a.

- Et alors qu’est-ce-qu’ils font les gens s'ils ne passent pas ce temps à table?
- Ils mangent et puis ils discutent avec les amis.  

They eat and then talk.  I abandoned this line of conversation.

But it was true, apparently.  Chips, hand cut, were a northern speciality although I never did get to try them.  We were right next to the Belgian border.  Mussels, beer and chips were common.

When I was studying, articles about le zinc being a French institution abounded.  The loi Toubon, forbidding anglicisms like le weekend in public broadcasting and in governmental offices had been passed.  It was never implemented, said the mayor.  How could it be?  Things had changed.  Bars and cafes have declined from 600,000 in 1960 to 34,000 today.  

But meals French-style, at home, were still as I remembered.  Our hosts invited us to their place for a meal with hors d’oeuvres, a delicious stew, cakes, cheese and fruit and we reciprocated the next day when I cooked for 10 in our gite.  They arrived at 1PM and left around 7.30, with most of that time spent à table.  Oh, and the mayor brought horse meat. I didn't believe it at first and still do wonder. Yes, I tried it. It was slightly spiced and tasted like the German meats,  I had eaten regularly as a child: something between the pâtés and soft german sausages.

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Le zinc: the counter of a bar, symbol of an aspect of traditional French bar and cafe culture.