Having written three articles about the kinds of things French people eat everyday, I thought I’d write this time about how they view food more broadly — from their attitude towards food to their attitude towards non-French food to the role that government should play in how people eat. Bon app !
Attitude towards food
In my experience, about 30% of French conversations revolve around food and drink. I can’t count the number of conversations I’ve heard where people spent hours talking about certain dishes, restaurants or beverages. If you were to talk about such things at length in English, people would assume you were a pretentious foodie or a bit obsessive, but in France, it appears perfectly acceptable to spend most of a lunchtime talking about what you had for lunch the previous day.
What I find interesting is that French people are stereotyped as being philosophical. When people imagine a Frenchman, they often imagine a guy sitting at a cafe table drinking red wine and smoking a cigarette. But having lived in France on-and-off for over two years, I don’t find French people particularly philosophical. When I studied philosophy at a university in France, not many of the students struck me as being particularly contemplative. And then when you look at the wider population, it’s hard to imagine many people having many conversations that touch philosophical topics. But when it comes to food, it’s a different question entirely. And so when I think about the caricature of the Frenchman, the only part that seems legitimate is the fact that he’s at a café.
Attitude towards (non-French) foods
I’ve always had the impression that French people, consciously or unconsciously, look down upon other cuisines, and having lived in France for a little while, I still maintain that view. While French people tend to wax lyrical about Italian cuisine, it seems to be the only other cuisine that they regard as being on their level.
And I think the attitude comes from ignorance. That’s not to say, of course, that French cuisine isn’t good; it so clearly is. But what I’ve observed is that when French people put down other cuisines, they usually end up betraying a lack of knowledge about the diversity and complexity of cuisines other than their own.
When I was staying with a French host family in the south of France, I vividly remember a relative saying that there were only six great cuisines in the world — French, Italian, Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese and Thai. All other cuisines she regarded as lesser. And then, even among those hallowed six, French cuisine came up tops because apparently it was the only one with a tradition of gastronomy.
Of course, that’s just one French person’s perspective. But interestingly, I think her view was actually more flattering than so many other views that I’ve encountered. A lot of people have had much less nice things to say about other cuisines, and I think I know where their perspective is coming from — they’ve never tried the cuisines in their natural habitats. While Paris may be one of the world’s so-called cultural capitals, boasting a staggering array of cultural amenities and a multicultural population, its non-French restaurants, surprisingly enough, aren’t on the same level as those found in English-speaking countries.
For whatever reason, whilst English-speaking countries have never set global tongues wagging, they seem to specialise in international cuisines. I think this stems from the fact that these countries have large immigrant populations that are often quite well educated and well-to-do. Such people tend to have more discerning tastes — and can afford the privilege of satisfying them. For instance, my hometown of Auckland for some reason has some of the best Chinese food outside of China, with restaurants dividing into regional cuisines including Sichuan, Cantonese, Wuhan, Shanghainese, Xinjiang and other cities and regions. What’s more, the quality of the so-called fusion restaurants is also incredibly high. The result is that when Aucklanders go out to eat, they’re spoilt for choice.
Compare that to Paris where, despite being the largest city in Europe, the standard of non-European fare can leave a lot to be desired. In Paris, Greek food is basically just a big, fatty kebab. The sophisticated Greek food found in Melbourne restaurants is seemingly nowhere to be found. Middle Eastern food is similarly reduced to kebabs, which — possibly infuriating for Middle Easterners — are referred to as un grecque, or a Greek. Chinese food is mostly served at traiteurs — mini restaurants where a number of dishes sit behind a glass cabinet and after you’ve chosen which servings you would like, the food is placed in a plastic container and weighed on a scale to determine how much you pay. As you can imagine, the food is usually not very fresh and lacking in the flavours of so-called authentic Chinese food.
And so while French people may like these cuisines, their knowledge of them is so impoverished that it’s no wonder that French food looks better by comparison. And yet, ironically, even when they may think highly of certain cuisines such as Japanese and Korean, which have become quite fashionable in recent times, they too suffer from being toned down to suit local tastes. In fact, the only Asian cuisine that I think doesn’t suffer too much from localisation is Vietnamese food — and I believe this is mainly the case because Vietnamese cuisine itself has been heavily influenced by French cuisine, and so many of the flavours and sensibilities have already been somewhat French for a while.
Then there’s American food, which tends to be stereotyped as just burgers and hot dogs, and Northern European food, which is seen as simple and not very appetising. What’s more, while Northern African food has a bit more of a presence, owing perhaps to the significant population of people with Northern African origins, sub-Saharan African food seems largely unknown.
In writing all this, I guess what I’m trying to say is that if French people believe on some subconscious level that French food is inherently more sophisticated than so many other cuisines, it’s because all those other cuisines are fighting with one hand tied behind their backs. And that if they were exposed to the best that each country’s cuisine had to offer, they would have a much more positive and open-minded attitude towards them. This is not to say, of course, that French people don’t often have nice things to say about other cuisines, because of course they do. But sometimes I’ve heard people say glowing things about certain restaurants, and then when you try them, the food is so far from good, it makes you wonder what they see in it.
This creates a weird dilemma. Of course, you can’t really point out that food is not at all representative of that country’s cuisine, because if you did, you’d be seen as pretentious or just not very pleasant to be around. But if you don’t point it out, they would maintain their view that French food is more sophisticated. One time I went to a Chinese traiteur with some friends and the food was frankly pretty bad. But I couldn’t say anything, so I just kept my mouth shut, in between mouthfuls of rubbery chicken.
Of course, my view is entirely subjective and I haven’t spoken to everyone. But I do think that for all the great things that France does when it comes to food, the English-speaking world just does international cuisine so much better — and, as a result, has so much more respect for it.
Government policy
According to French law, employers must provide salaried employees with either a canteen or a Ticket restaurant (lunch voucher). What this means in practical terms is that if you’re an employee in France, there is (almost) such a thing as a free lunch. With a Ticket Restaurant account, you can spend up to 19€ (soon to be 25€) on food a day at restaurants and supermarkets that partner with them. Every month, one’s workplace tops up your lunch money which you can use for a good twelve months, provided you don’t go over the daily limit. While 50% of the money comes out of your salary in the form of contributions, the other 50% comes from the government. So while it’s not exactly a free lunch, it still feels like it.
The great thing with Ticket Restaurant is that since you have to spend the money, you’re more likely to eat well at lunchtime. After all, while spending 19€ at a restaurant might seem a bit extravagant on a workday, you’re more likely to do it if it’s not “your” money per se. This government policy is interesting because I can’t imagine many other countries doing something similar. In most English-speaking countries, such a policy would be seen as a form of “Nanny state” intervention, and most employees would probably rather pocket the money and choose to do whatever with their hard earned dough. But I think it’s nice to have a lunch voucher because it does force you to eat better. And the funny thing is, while you’re meant to spend the money on food, there’s nothing stopping you from buying non-food items in supermarkets. In theory, you could buy DIY tools, iPhone cables, house cleaning products and teapots if you so wished.
While Ticket Restaurant is great for employees, that’s the thing — it’s only for employees. Workers on freelance or other non-permanent contracts don’t benefit from them, and as many of these workers earn less than employees, you could argue that the policy is inherently regressive as it favours those who already find themselves with superior paychecks and job security. When I wasn’t an employee, not only did I earn less but I had to buy my lunch every day. Now I don’t have to spend money on food. But I don’t think it’s fair that others with less secure employment shouldn’t also benefit from a free lunch.
Supermarkets
France has a large and fairly impressive range of supermarkets on offer, from budget-oriented ones such as Aldi and Lidl (which are dirt cheap but provide a cramped and not-so-pleasant shopping experience), to middle-of-the-road ones like Auchan, Casino and Carrefour, to high-end ones like Monoprix (which is almost as expensive as cheap New Zealand supermarkets). In cities, you tend to find plenty of smaller supermarkets such as Carrefour City (a smaller and more expensive version of the Walmart-style Carrefour) and Franprix (which famously has a DIY freshly-squeezed orange juice machine in all their stores). But there’s also a big presence of organic (or bio, as it’s called in French) supermarkets like Bio c’ Bon, Naturalia and numerous other “short-circuit (read: locally produced) retailers that only stock organic food.
Last but not least, while it’s considered almost taboo to purchase baguettes at supermarkets, I see it happening more and more. The thing is, while most supermarkets do terrible bread, there are a few — most notably Lidl — that do fairly good bread, and at a cheaper price than at bakeries. And so while it might not be socially acceptable to get your bread from the supermarket, I can understand why people do it. Still, it’s much nicer to go to a bakery. Especially when they know you as a regular.
