Food

As the stereotype goes, the French do love their food. And they do not mess around. It rules many conversations and even sparks some heated debates about what type of cheese is best or which wine goes best with which bread and how to eat radishes or why fruit is considered a desert and chocolate and cake and bread and pasta and meat and the list goes on and on and on and on….it’s exhausting. But the end result is worth all the concern. The French spend a great deal of time at their meals. They begin with an entrée; add bread, then a salad, then cheese, and then desert. Desert at Nathalie’s consists of ice cream or yogurt with brown sugar (reminds me of Papa!) and small cracker-like cookies. By the end of the meal, we have been sitting for over and hour and my stomach is ready to pop. I have started to get the impression that dinner is what everyone looks forward to.

I have been surprised with how food itself is here. I eat a peach every morning for breakfast. These peaches are the best peaches I’ve ever had, but I was shocked when I cut my first one and the inside was not orange. It was more of a pale color. I mentioned to Nathalie that they might not be ripe and she just laughed and said, “C’est parfait!” It’s perfect! And it was! All of the fruit and vegetables are like this—they taste delicious, but they don’t seem to have the same vanity as the food in the states. They’re not quite as shiny and colorful. Are we so vain that we even have to make our food look better than it actually is? To add to my surprises, I was confused to learn that milk does not go in the refrigerator. It goes in the cabinet right next to the cereal. And bread can sit out in the open and not go stale (Nathalie makes her own bread). I made a fool out of myself tonight when Nathalie made a sort of grilled cheese with tomatoes in it. I picked it up to eat it like a sandwich, which is apparently incorrect. I must still eat it with a fork and knife. Oops. And finally, French people LOVE butter! Lots and lots of butter! Put it on the noodles, the salad, the bread, the radishes! Anything! I tried radishes for the first time my fifth day here and I’ve fallen in love. Dipping them in salt and eating them with buttered bread is the perfect little snack. I’m starting to become serious about my food just like those around me.

Even though all of this new food knowledge is exciting, the most exciting news is how different the restaurants are. I don’t really think it’s fair to call them restaurants—they’re more like someone else’s kitchen. Instead of waiting to be seated, you find an open seat and someone will come and get what you need. And if you go back the next day, it will be the same person! Or you can walk in to a boulangerie or pattiserie and pick out what you want from the person who made whatever it is you’re eating fresh that morning. I went to a boulangerie (a bread shop) the first lunch in Nantes and to my shock and awe the woman asked for my name. She now knows my face and knows exactly which sandwich I want, which comes on freshly made bread with creamy cheese, ham or turkey, and of course, butter. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat happily at a Subway ever again.

I have yet to try anything too exotic. I’m just still trying to get used to the routine of meals. They’re ceremonious. I will try some escargots before I leave though…