The Art of Eating

I'm updating this way too often, but something tells me that none of you really care. So, my bad habit will continue. Onward.

This won't be a very long post, but I have to tell about one of the most essential parts of French culture before it becomes habit and I forget how strange it all is:

Food.

Now, the American definition of food is radically complicated. You can be a vegan, a vegetarian, allergic to milk or peanuts, a meat-lover, someone who doesn't eat sugar, someone who doesn't eat fat, someone who doesn't eat any number of things. First real difference in French culture: if they have cooked it, you will eat it. 

This isn't to say that the French aren't sensitive to other peoples' diets; they are, incredibly so. When I got here, my host parents both bugged me endlessly for a list of things I liked and didn't like food-wise. When no list was forthcoming, my host mother began making French Fries four times a week, reverting back to her (slightly stereotypical) assumed knowledge of American cuisine. They do, however, bring an image to mind (with startling clarity) of some black and white television program from when my parents were children, the father vehemently stating that little Johnny was going to eat at least a little bit of everything and "you're going to like it." If your mother has been so incredibly kind as to cook something for the family, you will at least try a bit of everything on the table, even if you don't like it.

The second culture divide concerning food came about when my host mother expressed some concern over the quantity of food I was eating (or not eating) at meals. (It's a travel thing, and also a bit of a culture shock thing that I'm still trying to get over: my appetite is about half of what it was in the United States, and that's better than last week.) Worriedly heaping what I considered to be way too much food onto my plate, insisting she was giving me a "smaller serving", she then proceeded to serve my host sister, by piling enough pasta on her plate that it looked like the serving dish for the whole dinner. Keep in mind, this was just the first course. My host sister is twelve. She ate it all, and went on to have two steaks. Suddenly my "smaller portion" was a godsend.

Since then, I have managed to convince my host mother that even if my appetite were back to normal, I would never be able to eat the monstrous amounts they consider normal here, and that I would like an even smaller portion that what she was giving me. She's now reverted to giving me portions so "small" she's worrying that she's starving me, and I still leave the table feeling uncomfortably full.

The third cultural difference is both wonderful and annoying. Lunch and Dinner are always eaten with the family, with the exception of school lunches on any day but Wednesday, when you get out at noon anyway and should promptly make your way home for lunch. Last Saturday, I was feeling exhausted from having such a busy week, and made the mistake of asking my host mother if I could stay at home and sleep instead of going to a late-night fair with the family. She blinked, confused, and told me that the family was going to have dinner at the fair. For her, this settled the matter. Being tired and unable to think clearly, I asked her why I couldn't just stay at home and eat a bowl of cereal, something that would definitely have been an option in America. She looked scandalized. (I went to the fair.)

However, having lunch and dinner with the family is a definite way to improve my language skills. It's also helping me feel more like part of the family, even more so now that I can understand more of their jokes and I'm not feeling quite so incredibly stressed out from all the traveling I did to get here. Also, French food is usually something you don't want to miss. Which brings me to my next cultural difference...

The food here is like nothing you've ever seen before. When I got here, I don't know what I was expecting. Gourmet something, maybe, small portions, twelve courses, and some sort of unidentifiable fancy sauce in little zigzag patterns all over square plates. (Like I said to my parents in San Francisco: "You just have to admit that square plates make everything look ten times fancier.")

What I got was something unbelievably better. At least in the south of France (I'm not even going to try and speak for the other parts, you might as well apply this disclaimer to everything I say on this blog), home cooking is one part amazing cooking, one part fancy, and three parts comfort food. Everything you eat here would be typical comfort food, I imagine, for a French person. It's what we Americans like to classify as "Good 'Ol Southern Home Cookin'", only less absolutely disgusting looking to the average non-southern person. Chicken, fish, pork, any kind of meat at all, but always made into the most delicious recipe possible. The only thing that breaks this rule is the pasta, which is absolutely tasteless because they never make any sort of sauce to go with it. You just sprinkle cheese over it. (I really should have expected this, but in reality nobody in my family eats all that much cheese.)

I also have found the most delicious non-dessert food item in the universe: baguette sandwiches. It doesn't matter what kind of meat it is, it can be anything you like, but it will ALWAYS be delicious. This bread is going to be hard to live without when I go back to America. (Fun Fact: It's completely normal to see a little old lady walk down the street with at least seven baguettes in her basket. It's also acceptable for my family of seven to go through nine baguettes in one day.)

The best dessert-item, though, also hails from France: it's called a pain au chocolat. Pahn oh shakolah. It's essentially a croissant, which are already delicious here in France, and it's also filled with chocolate. I have to get the recipe for these things. It's one of those foods where, once you've had it, you will never be able to go without it for the rest of your life. On extremely lucky days, there's a big bowl on the table at breakfast, covered with a paper towel, and when you lift up the towel, there are nine or ten pain au chocolat waiting for you. It's delicious.

So I'm kind of finding myself wondering why I'm missing the food at home so much.

~Josie Harris