One of my preferred eateries here in Lyon |
Elegantly-laid tables, fine wines, beautifully prepared dishes. These are just a few of the many images that are conjured up when discussing what eating in France is like, but the reality is somewhat different. Contrary to widely-held views, eating here is not first and foremost about enjoying the food. It’s about enjoying the people who sit down to eat it.
I’m writing this entry in response to a commenter on
The Guardian who suggested that I write about French cheeses, of which he is a
fan. Having thought about it for a while though, all my ideas for this subject seemed
to revolve around the usual kind of gushing praise that British and other
newspapers heap upon French food in their ‘Food & Drink’ sections.
Articles on cheese in these papers often talk about
bringing a fine selection of cheeses out of the fridge on time and laying them
lovingly onto elegant cheese platters and selecting four of five excellent
bottles, one for each cheese, and at least two different breads, before going
on to relate the exquisite sensations to be enjoyed whilst eating and drinking
each cheese and wine etcetera. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do that, so
I hope the commenter concerned will understand why and forgive me.
The majority of French people do know how to select
and serve cheese of course, and they also know how to eat correctly in good
restaurants and prepare finely-tuned cuisine, but it isn’t what many of them
prefer to do, which is to burn the good etiquette book and chuck it out the window.
A first social invitation to eat often involves a
more-or-less formal table. Your host may even serve your wine, your food is
served for you, and in no circumstances do you help in any way. You’re the
guest after all. But if all goes well and everyone enjoys each other’s company,
subtle changes to the conduct of subsequent meals together will occur.
You may begin to hear things like “how about if I
bring the serving bowls in and we all help ourselves?” and your host may well
hold his empty glass out and ask you to fill it because the bottle is nearer to
you and he can’t reach it. Politics and/or religion may begin to creep into the
conversation.
If this happens to you it’s a good bet that your
company is appreciated and that your hosts would like to lighten up on the
rules and become more relaxed and familiar with you. You should seize
opportunities like this and help further them.
You will soon find yourself mopping up sauces with
your bread and helping to clear the plates in preparation for the next dish. Bread
connoisseurs who know each other smell bread from extremely close up to
appreciate the aroma, and so shall you.
Elbows will eventually be put on tables, and you won’t
get a cheese plate anymore because, like everyone else, you’ll just clean a
corner of your main dish plate with bread in which to place your cheese, cheese which you have
cut with your own knife after wiping it on your bread. And if people are eating
different desserts, they may well ask if they can “just have a little taste of
yours” before dipping into it with their own spoon.
Now you’re getting somewhere. Conversation will become
more incisive, ribald jokes will be told, and it’s now that you begin to realise
what eating in France is all about, which is developing relationships and not
showing off your impeccable table manners. What constitutes good table manners here
can, and often does, vary according to who one is eating with. The food is important, sure, but the whole
exercise is ultimately geared to enjoying the company of people whom one
appreciates in a relaxed and unfettered manner.
In fact, some of the very best and most satisfying
meals I’ve ever eaten in France happen when longstanding friends gather
together and a couple of them, or I myself, have just been to the local market. So it’s
roll-your-sleeves-up time and all the charcuterie and excellent cheeses are
just plonked down in the centre of the kitchen table, still in their wrappers. Napkins
are kitchen paper roll. Add a couple of good breads and a few bottles of local
wine – fine wines would be out of place and inappropriate here - and it’s every
man woman and child for him or herself. Banter and fun guaranteed. Heaven.
That’s what real eating à-la-française means to me. Eating for many French people is first and foremost
a vehicle – an excuse even – for relaxed, informal and enjoyable social
interaction. This is why the sooner the etiquette book gets burned the sooner
everyone can start enjoying eating and each other. And that is precisely what art
de vivre is all about in its day-to-day sense.