La vie à la française!

June 1993: While sailing away from Dublin port, all my wordly possessions packed neatly into the boot of Philippe’s Volkswagon, I began to question myself – what on earth was I doing? Was I completely out of my mind to agree to this ‘life-changing experience’? No going back now... Wasn’t the Rough Guide to France explicit enough when they clearly stated that the best thing to do on arrival in Cherbourg was to leave the place as quickly as possible? How could I, of all people, not a woman of few words, survive in a country where I didn’t even speak the language? Wasn’t I quite happy, afterall, teaching Home Ec in various Community Colleges? Hadn’t I spent 4 years studying to get there? I’d parted with my Nissan Micra.....had wheels, did travel? Et oui... love is blind and all that and here I am today, having, not only survived, but more importantly, embraced the whole experience of ‘la vie à la française’.
Shortly after my arival in La Manche, I thanked all who’d encouraged me into the kitchen....I couldn’t speak the language but, more importantly, I could play the French at their own game...... I could cook!
La cuisine quickly became my way of communincating. French friends were quickly made to feel welcome, in the realisation that they, the French, no longer monopolised the gastronomic world. Their Euopean neighbours were quickly catching up with them!
I had, of course, my fair share of culinary disasters... the language barrier made sure of that! While trying to impress one couple, for example, in the knowledge that ‘Madame’ was renowned for the hours she spent preparing food for her ‘invités’, I asked the butcher for 4 steaks. I would leave no-one indifferent and dazzle them with Gaelic steaks (sirloin steak flambeed in Jameson) and garlic potatoes. Suffice to say that my jaws had never encountered such a challenge!
My first experience of a restaurant meal ‘en famille’ certainly didn’t leave me indifferent either. I ordered a plateau de fruits de mer – can’t go wrong with a bit of salmon, I thought. What arrived was a mountain of sea-snails, oysters, crabs, periwinkles, fresh prawns and much more all served decoratively on a bed of seaweed. A toolkit was provided too.Today, however, I willingly prepare and indulge myself in such delicacies – reserved for special occasions, shared with a loved one and topped up with a glass of chilled Muscadet – la vie est belle!
Food in france is like a national sport. The weekly market is a somewhat lively meeting place. The emphasis is on quality, as opposed to quantity. There is national pride in the nation’s produce. Time is taken to choose, buy and prepare meals. Eating is a social activity. Fresh, well-prepared food served on a decorated table and shared with family and friends for me sums up the french appraoch to eating.And while they come up regularly with new techniques, la cuisine de grand-mère remains a firm favourite throughout France, each region having its own local specialities, la cuisine du terroir: food that all culinaires should regale themselves with while, holidaying in France. Everything in France revolves around food. In Ecole Maternelle (between the ages of 2 and a half and 6) kids enjoy a gouter (snack) each morning and afternoon, each mother in turn, in our local school anyway, having the pleasure of providing biscuits, yoghurts, cakes, crêpes. Scones were my forté, as they’re my Kate’s favourite, although she mispronounced the word and told all they were called ‘stones’!Birthdays are also celebrated in school up until a certain age – l’age de raison (7). Again, Maman is expected to supply the cake. I had a ball with my two, Ellen and Kate, making original cakes ... castles and numbers in various colours and became quite a local celebrity (this is rural France) for the tiny kids who stared at this foreign woman with a strange accent and a weird array of cakes. (The french remain very traditional in their approach to any type of food – cakes included.)The school canteen provides a nourishing, well-balanced 3 course meal where children learn to sit and chat – a preparation for a lifetime of social eating. A birthday girl/boy of all ages often brings in the croissants to work to mark the occasion. And generally speaking, every happy event is commemorated with champagne. One gets used to that very quickly! I mean, when in Rome etc.......
There are, however, some areas about the French and their appraoch to cuisine that bugs me..... ‘modesty’ is clearly not a word that springs to mind when talking of the French, ‘chauvinism’, on the other hand....... well, let’s face it, that’s why we like them, arrogance and all!Mention sucré salé (sweet and sour) and they’ll ask you if you’ve learned to cook in a rosbif’s kitchen! Rosbif (roast beef) is what they mockingly call the English. Need I say more?However, serve up a carrot and orange soup and watch their inquisitive expressions and their pouting, for want of a better word, as they try to dissect each ingredient. (No other race in the world could possibly exercises facial muscles like the French). Victory follows as they come back for more!
Another area has to be their sandwiches. Here we beat them hands down.Half a baguette, lashings of (often unsalted) butter and a miserable slice of fatty ham is a jambon beurre. Live dangerouly and ask for a complet and you’ve a leaf of lettuce, a slice of ham, a slice of an over-ripe tomato and if you’re lucky a bit of mayonnaise.But then again, in a country where everything closes (even supermarkets) between 12.30 and 2pm for lunch, a sandwich is clearly not considered a meal.And so ends my synopsis of food in France and one Irishwoman’s experience. Today is an important day as the Beaujolais Nouveau has arrived – a great excuse for a party. Celebrations of the same will continue over the weekend and all over France, as people comment on the bouquet of the Beaujolais.
A la votre.....Santé.

The Wilde Kitchen was launched in 2006 in an effort to share the nitty grittty of everyday life in Normandy with basically anyone interested.