The first step to recovery is admitting that one cannot control one’s addiction or compulsion.

I admit that I have a big, BIG problem with markets.

Today, at the market, I cried over salad.

Yes. Salad.

M and I were at the Italian stand, [...]]]> My name is Kristie. Not only am I a baguette-a-holic, but I am also a market-a-holic.

The first step to recovery is admitting that one cannot control one’s addiction or compulsion.

I admit that I have a big, BIG problem with markets.

Today, at the market, I cried over salad.

Yes. Salad.

M and I were at the Italian stand, trying to work our what type of fresh ravioli we would buy, when a radiant green flashed in the corner of my eye.

A row of different types of salad leaves, in separate wicker baskets.

The first, carrying baby spinach leaves, even more beautiful than their name in French: “Jeunes pousses d’epinards”. How can I explain how perfect they were? Tender, fresh, without a single blemished leaf? How is it possible to have a whole basket of delicate leaves without them looking a little transport-weary? I could have sworn that he had picked each leaf by hand and carried it delicately to rest in the basket.

The next basket was full of fine tendrils of rocket. Not the big, burn-your-mouth-out leaves that I used to buy in Woolworths supermarket in Sydney. These rocket leaves were elegant, fine, gently curling, as if asking to be placed on your fork.

And the other baskets – salad leaves that I have only seen in France, like Mache.

It was a moment of amazement and wonder and I actually welled up. How can you live in a big city, and yet have access to produce that you would normally have to go to the country to find, or grow in your own backyard?

And we’re not even in Paris central. We’re in a little suburb just outside of Paris, and yet the market is open 2 or 3 mornings a week.

This market is undercover, in a big hall on the main street. I walked past it’s grimey doors a million times, thinking it looked too ugly to warrant a visit. The supermarket was just fine by me, and if I wanted a proper market experience, then I would just join my friend, A, at the organic market on Rue de Rennes, in Paris.

But one day, M suggested we make a quick Sunday trip to get a few things before all the shops closed on Monday (yes – in most suburbs, all the shops and restaurants close on Mondays. If you dont have anything in the fridge to eat for Monday night’s dinner – you’re stuffed).

Wow – from a dingy entrance, into a fabulous market atmosphere inside. There are:

• 3 cheese stalls (including my favourite husband and wife stall, where they always seem to be bickering and laughing together)
• one basic butchery, one butchery selling offal, and one butchery selling pate, terrines, pre-prepared meat dishes etc
• 5 fruit and vege stalls, with one particularly raucous Italian fruit and vege stall where the owners always seem to be doing more talking, giving kids strawberries to taste and general frivolity, than selling. I dont know how they do it, but they always have a crowd.
• 2 fish stalls (I avoid these like the plague – the smell for me is just too fishy!!)
• 2 flower/plant stalls (you name it – they got it)
• one wine stall (poor guy is always lonely. Everyone prefers the cute man in the bottleshop across the road)
• one cured meats stall (cured meats from everywhere – Corsica, French mountains, Italy, yum yum…)
• one italian stall, with mozzarella de buffala, fresh pasta, fresh pasta sauce, salami, proscuitto and delicious antipasti
• one stall that just does olives, tapenade and antipasti – thats it.
• one stall that just does potatoes and herbs – and salad…..

Now,  every Sunday, I promise myself that I will only buy the necessities: the things that we have run out of from our 2 weekly supermarket shop, or the things that we cant get anywhere else. I promise myself that I will only buy the items I have written on the list. This is partly because the market is more expensive than the supermarket, but also as a way to control my addiction.

Some weeks, I succeed in only buying the things on the list – hurrah!

Other weeks, I just lose myself in the whirlwind of delicious market goodness; the people, the dogs, the banter between stallholder and local – and I want it too. I want to be given chunks of cheese to taste by the cheeseman, I want the fruit and vege man to greet me with a smile, I want the potato man to say “oh well, its better to have a big tall fiance with a big appetite than a small weedy one!” as he piles an extra couple of spuds in the bag. If I pass a fresh and beautifully pink pork fillet that has never seen a styrofoam tray or chemical preservatives – how can I leave it behind? I imagine that everything I buy from the market is full of vitamins, minerals and health-giving properties, and will without doubt be more delicious than anything I can buy from the “Auchan” supermarket (whether that’s true for everything in the market, I dont know, but the placebo effect works fabulously on me!).

Sometimes, the market isnt even about me, it’s just about watching how other people interact, watching how they choose their produce, listening to the conversations two women are having about their husbands and their work. I listen to the politeness, the protocol of the market, how things must be displayed, the interaction between stallholders who discuss whether it’s time to start packing up or if they can put aside a fillet of salmon for a customer who has just bought some fennel and lemons. This is the true France, the true meeting point of the neighbourhood – and I love it.

If there is such a thing as heaven, I am absolutely positive that there will be a market there.

When you’re employed you have money to do the fantastic things you’ve dreamed about – but no time to do them.

People say “oh yes, but you’ve had a year off work, that’s a good enough holiday”.

Well, yes and [...]]]> When you’re unemployed, you have all the time in the world – but no money to do anything.

When you’re employed you have money to do the fantastic things you’ve dreamed about – but no time to do them.

People say “oh yes, but you’ve had a year off work, that’s a good enough holiday”.

Well, yes and no. Yes I’ve had some great leisure time, and have enjoyed time with friends. But I’ve had my job hunt looming like a big black cloud over my head, ready to rain on any parade in which I choose to participate. Previously exciting things just dont rate as highly on the hype-o-meter. Oh how I dream of being able to take the TGV to Lyon and eat myself into a delicious food coma, spend a weekend in Bordeaux and make friends with a wine-producer…..

But when you dont know if you’re going to get a job this month, or next year, financial resources need to be conserved = NO FUN.

The fun I have these days is a daily game to see how little I can spend. It works. Sometimes it works too well.

I have spent the past year living a non-buying mentality. This is actually quite a trendy thing to do at the moment. The anti-consumerism and anti-waste movement is growing in popularity daily. Some people have written books about how they spent a whole year not buying anything. They made their own clothes from curtains, made manual repairs to things that broke, recycled gifts, etc.

OK, I havent been that strict, but I did give nearly everything I owned away before I left, and my clothes purchases have pretty much been restricted to replacing things that had become to old to wear (eg pantyhose with holes) or essentials (more jumpers and some woollen pantyhose for winter). I have given up my expensive makeup in preference to some nifty maybelline (with one exception – I refuse to give up my expensive face cream, but have at least saved some money by asking visiting friends to buy it for me duty free).

Now that I think of it, the only treats I’ve really bought myself have been books, and I plan on passing them on – giving them away once I’ve finished with them anyway.

[Side note: This is something else I discovered as I was packing up my life last year. I had SO many books, that I'd read once, and left on the shelf, never to be touched again. When I had my "open day", when friends came around to take anything of mine they liked, I was amazed at how much joy was created around my book collection. Even after I left the country people mentioned how much they loved reading one of the books they'd selected. So my new philosophy is, unless it has REAL sentimental value or its a book I will re-read more than once, then books get given away or sold to second hand stores. This one little gesture will make a difference to other people's lives and will cut down on the number of things I have to pack and move when I change apartments!]

Most days, I dont even bother looking in clothes stores, Sephora etc. If I do, it’s usually because I’m with a friend from overseas who wants to spend up big on something fabulous from Paris (or because I’m with M, who is a terrible shopaholic when it comes to jeans, t-shirts and Nike trainers).

But even when I’m in a shop, I might see some nice things, but I just cant bring myself to buy anything. I have officially switched off the “buy” button in my brain. Whats the point of having a gorgeous pair of red stilettos if I dont have enough money to eat at the end of the month?

Speaking of eating, I have changed my eating habits dramatically as well. In Sydney, I didnt think anything of buying my lunch every day and eating out with friends in the evening. Now eating out is a luxury and I have discovered the joys of the 1 euro, 3-pack of canned lentils! Delicious with a blob of sweet chilli sauce mixed in! Dinners and lunches out are saved for when I have overseas visitors (or for when M is paying!).

Yes, it has been an exercise in restraint for financial purposes, but not spending money has really helped me to understand the difference between “want” and “need”. And it has made me stop and think before buying.

I havent changed my attitude in general though: I still believe in generosity, I still believe that I will receive what I need (through my own efforts or the generosity of others), I believe that there is more than enough of everything to go around without me being a stingy old scrooge. And generosity is not just about material things – it’s about generosity of time, effort, thought, assistance.

I think this is one of the greatest benefits I’ve had over the year: I’ve stopped thinking that I can just buy something and offer it as a gift as a display of generosity. Dont get me wrong, I LOVE to buy presents for other people, especially when it’s something that I know they’ll really love. But with my spending capacity severely limited, I’ve really focused on ways to be generous without buying. Like ironing M’s work-shirt for him when he’s really tired, writing my Nana a big long letter, making a batch of my famous eggplant pasta dish for friends when I know they’ll be arriving home late and starving from a weekend away.

Arent these the best gifts of all?

PS I found this story about  a now unemployed food-critic is learning to live off food stamps – oh the similarities in the way we approach food!

What is wrong with me??

Cheese is a major part of my life here, as it is for most French people (their daily dairy intake is just spectacular).

I think this topic will need some proper investigation though, because my current approach to French cheeses is unsophisticated (this [...]]]> I realised recently that I have barely talked about cheese.

What is wrong with me??

Cheese is a major part of my life here, as it is for most French people (their daily dairy intake is just spectacular).

I think this topic will need some proper investigation though, because my current approach to French cheeses is unsophisticated (this is putting it nicely).

Here is an example of my current approach to French cheese:

Step 1: I am offered some cheese/I peruse the Fromager’s stall at the market.

Step 2: I accept/buy the cheese.

Step 3: I eat the cheese.

Step 4: I decide that the cheese is delicious and therefore more cheese should be eaten.

I dont ask what the name of the cheese is, what type of animal it comes from, where it has been made, how it has been made, how old it is, what it’s flavour is, whether it’s ripe, what is the best accompaniment etc. These are all things that French people ask – routinely.

Buying cheese at a market stall will take each person a good 5 minutes minimum. They will often seek the guidance of the fromager or stallholder. Here is a standard cheese buying process for a French person:

• If the Frenchie doesnt have a specific cheese in mind, they will explain to the Stallholder what the cheese is for (a dinner party, for example). This also allows the Stallholder to suggest cheeses that are “in season”, or that are from a particularly excellent Fromager
• The Stallholder will often ask if the guests/the buyer like cheeses that are strong in flavour or more mild, or if they have a particular preference for the type of milk (Cow, sheep, goat)
• The Frenchie will explain when the cheese will be eaten (ie tonight, or in a few days time, or over the course of a week)
• The Stallholder will then suggest a cheese/cheeses that meet the taste and milk requirements.
• The Stallholder will offer a sample of that cheese for the Frenchie to taste.
• If the Frenchie doesnt like the suggested cheese, the Stallholder will continue suggesting cheeses/giving tastes until the Frenchie rolls their eyes in rapture
• If it is to be eaten that day, the Stallholder will test the cheeses to select the one that is perfectly ripe – this is usually done by gently prodding the softer cheeses, or gently squeezing their middles. If the cheese is to last the week, then they will choose one that is just bordering on ripe, so that you can enjoy every day of the week as it ripens, ending with the perfect texture and flavour.

Of course, even if you know what sort of cheese you want to buy, you still must ask the Stallholder’s advice. For example, M loves a good Comte. So, as a special treat,  I stopped in at one of the Fromage Stallholders at our local market. He had several types of Comte available. He proceeded to present each type, their qualities and then give me a little slice to taste. I couldnt decide. I bought a slice of both. [Note: I CANNOT be trusted at the market. Another blog on my market addiction is currently being drafted. This cheese experience is a classic example of my weakness.]

So, while the Frenchie is telling the Stallholder, I want this cheese, no not that one, more like that, a little to the left blah blah blah, the queue gets longer and longer, and everyone stands and stares at the cheeses, drooling, waiting for their turn. Cheese Torture. But a fantastic selling technique: more time to view the various cheeses, more time to build up an appetite, more time to be jealous that someone else is getting taste tests and not you etc

On some of my first cheese buying experiences, I would just select whatever I thought looked good and buy a slice. I always wondered why I received a cold reception, but thought perhaps it was just my accent/lack of French skills. Now I’m starting to realise that, it’s almost offensive to select a cheese without seeking the Stallholder’s advice. It gives the impression that you know more about the cheese than the stallholder OR are just not sophisticated enough to be able to tell the difference between a good and bad cheese. Either way, you’ll sometimes get a scowl or a robotic transaction. The best way to approach the transaction for beginners? Just start with something simple like “I would like a really runny Brie” or “I would like a really strong flavoured cheese”.

And really, it’s not even necessary to go to the market to buy good cheese. French supermarkets stock a shocking amount of cheese, and even the cheaper brands are generally of a much better quality that we get in Australia.

So, what cheeses are my favourites?

Let’s put it this way – I havent yet met a cheese I didnt like.

But here are some of my favourites…..

Maroilles - This is a really stinky cheese. It comes from the far north east of France, close to the Belgian border (this is where M is from). It’s a famous cheese, in fact, with a starring role in the film “Bienvenue Chez les Ch’tis” (“Welcome to the Sticks”). It is square with an orange rind, and a camembert-like texture inside. It is such a stinky cheese that we have to seal it in a tupperware container when we store it in the fridge. Even then, everytime one of us opens the fridge door we accuse the other of farting. M makes a quiche just using slabs of this cheese and it’s delicious (Nathan – please feel free to comment). It’s also delicious melted over “pain d’epices” – a heavy french gingerbread. Another similar cheese, from the same region, is “Fromage de Bergues”. Also very delicious and stinky.

Boursin - French people will call me unsophisticated (again), but this is a long time passion of mine. You can buy it in Australia, but only the little boxes and it costs a fortune. Here I can buy the big box for a little price It’s a light (as in not dense) cream cheese, in a solid shape, but spreadable and slightly crumbly. It often comes with herbs, garlic, nuts, figs etc. It’s a cheap cheese that Frenchies spread on their stale baguette for breakfast, or as a snack – therefore not a REAL cheese, but I am just in love with it. Boursin is the brand name, and you can get the same cheese made by different brands, but nothing beats the original.

St Moret – This is another cheapie supermarket cheese, and therefore not a ‘real’ cheese according to Frenchies. It’s very similar to philadelphia cream cheese, just with a slightly higher water content. And more salt too I think. Another cheese that’s delicious spread on a baguette with a slice of tomato, salt and pepper….mmmm

Chevre - Where do I start? Goat’s cheese is enormous here. You can get goat milk, goat yoghurt, very creamy, almost liquid cheeses, solid logs of white cheese, and very hard, yellow, cheddar type cheeses. Where to they keep all those goats??? They dont give as much milk as a cow, so why isnt France covered with goats? All running down the main street, India-style? That would be so cute!….until they started nibbling on your jumper….Anyway, some Australians shy away from goat cheese, saying that it has a flavour that’s too “goaty” and powerful. Honestly, France is the best place to get the full range of flavours. I’m sure that they’d be converted. For example, a French friend living in the Bourgogne brought us a present on his recent visit to Paris. He had driven out to a local farm and bought a beautiful log of pure white goat cheese. It was quite solid, but still with some moisture. And the flavour was a cross between a delicate, slightly acidic cream cheese and that slight ‘goaty’ flavour. Yummy yum yum. Hoorah for friends bringing gifts of cheese! One of the other things that some people find a bit strange is that the softer, more spreadable cheeses are sometimes preserved in ash. No, not because the cheesemaker drank too much red wine and dropped the cheese in the ash from his cigarette (although, now that I say that, it’s probably not too far from the truth about the origin of the technique…). The ash doesnt leave an unpleasant flavour, so dont hesitate to chomp straight into it!

Epoisses - Another killer stinky cheese. Dont give your significant other a kiss after eating this one, unless they too have shoved a blob in their mouth. This is a square, orange rind cheese, with a runny centre (when properly ripe), and is therefore often sold in a wooden basket-type container to make sure it holds it shape and isnt punctured. How can you explain why something that smells so bad can taste so good? Crusty piece of baguette, lathered with liquid epoisses – brilliant. (lol – just read on wikipedia that it has reportedly been banned from being carried on public transport because it’s so stinky!)

Camembert - I have come to call this cheese “The Silent Killer”. Camembert in Australia is very mild in smell and flavour. There are some really mild French camemberts as well. But there are also some really smelly fart-like camemberts that can stink out a room in less than a minute. The problem is: you often dont know which type you’ve bought until after you get home and have let it sit in the fridge for a while. I have indeed blamed M for farting when all he’s done is open the fridge door. He blamed the camembert and I said “Yeah right, an innocuous little buttery cheese smells like a rubbish dump!”. And damn, he was right.

Reblochon - This is another favourite cheese, with multi-purposes. It  looks similar to a camembert, but has a slightly stronger, buttery flavour. It comes from the French Alps, and to be honest, the best one we have eaten, by far, is the one we bought while on a ski trip to Serre Chevalier. Supermarket brands are ok, but just pale in comparison to the delicious alpine treat. This cheese is fantastic just with a bit of baguette and red wine. But it also is a key ingredient in a fantastic French dish called “Tartiflette”. It’s a delicious variation of a potato bake: potatoes, onions, ‘lardons’ (bacon bits), cream, and a layer of sliced reblochon, all grilled in the oven. What better way to coat the inside of your arteries!

Morbier - This was the first ‘real’ French cheese I ate on my first visit to France. I managed to score a private tour and lunch at the chateau Moet et Chandon in Epernay. I happened to be seated next to a senior officer in the French secret service, who was amazingly gracious to this poorly dressed, unsophisticated little Australian. He recommended a cheese for me from the cheese platter, and I immediately fell in love with it. I asked him to write down the name of the cheese on the back of his business card so I would never forget it. It is a soft, slightly elastic cheese, with a thin layer of ash running through the middle, horizontally (although you cant taste the ash). Apparently the style came from farmers having leftover milk from the day, insufficient to make a whole cheese. They would pour it into a mould and cover it with a layer of ash to preserve it until the next day, when they would top it up from the next morning’s milk. This cheese smells bad, tastes delicious. It is nutty, slightly bitter.

Tete de Moine – This is a recent discovery. It means “Monk’s Head”. It was made originally by monks, but what it has to do with their heads, I’ve got no idea. It’s a quite solid cheese, but with lots of flavour. The novelty though, is in the way you cut it. Or rather, in the way you shave it. You basically skewer it on a metal apparatus called a “girolle”, and use a metal blade attached to slowly turn around the cheese in a circular motion. This shaves the cheese off into beautiful “curls”. Kids love the mild flavour, the novelty of turning the blade and how the cheese curls melt in the mouth. What am I saying: Yes, little kids AND big kids like me!

Mimolette - This is a very mild, hard cheese, bright orange on the inside and brown and crusty on the outside. It looks like a rockmelon. No joke. The best way to eat it is when it’s really aged, really dry, like an old parmesan. The flavour is much milder than a parmesan though. If you’re sick of stinky soft cheeses, this is the one to buy.

Comté - This is another hard cheese that knocks your socks off with delicious flavour. If you’re a cheddar lover, then I think you’ll like this cheese. It’s less “milky” than cheddar, but has a great nutty, sweet taste. Aged for 24 or 48 months and it doubles it’s deliciousness. M often has a hard time choosing between me and Comté. If he’s eating a slice, best to save the conversation for later.

St Marcellin – I’ll ask Mel to write a comment about what this cheese is like and why she loves it It’s basically a small, white, soft cheese with a runny centre, perfect for lathering over a baguette. It’s larger sister is called Saint-Félicien.

OK, so even if I am still getting used to being more sophisticated in my cheese selection, one thing I do ask of my dining companions is how the cheese should be cut. It’s just a common courtesy for those who may eat from the same piece (if I leave any behind that is). And there are specific rules for how certain cheeses must be cut. I always forget them though. How to cut the cheese is a minor issue compared to the main task at hand – eating.

It has been a very challenging year from that perspective. Managing my cheese intake to ensure I dont gain 1000kg is difficult in the extreme. Luckily, the French culture has saved my butt (literally) in this respect.

In Australia, cheese is (generally, and especially in social circles, as opposed to restaurant dining), more of an entree, or an appetizer. When you arrive at someone’s house for dinner, you will be greeted and promptly given a glass of wine/beer and be offered a plate of cheeses, antipasti, biscuits, dips etc. (I’m laughing at myself as I write this because the thought of eating cheese as an appetizer is making me feel odd – “eew, imaging eating a whole lot of cheese BEFORE the meal”. Oh, how I have changed….lol). This is meant to keep your hunger pangs as bay while you chit-chat away and await the main course. Of course, when you’re hungry, and there’s a plate of delicious cheese in front of you, guess what happens? You eat a tonne of cheese. Which is fantastic for the tastebuds, but not so happy for your arteries or Body Mass Index.

Thankfully, here in France the cheese platter is not offered until AFTER the main meal. AND there is a salad course and dessert to follow (usually something equally delicious). So (a) you’re not so hungry that you could eat a whole camembert and (b) you need to keep some space for the dessert deliciousness that is to follow. Naturally, cheese intake is kept to a minimum – just enough to appreciate the flavour.

[OK, time to be honest. I ALWAYS forget that there is a cheese course and end up eating a full entree and main. During the elation that results from the presentation of a gorgeous cheese platter, I ALWAYS forget that there is a salad course and dessert to follow. I just dig in with reckless abandon (and ignore everyone staring at the amount of cheese I've served myself - I hope they think that I skipped lunch or something and that's why I'm so "hungry"). I think this is where French people manage their weight better than some other countries: they are used to eating smaller meals because there is just no way you can finish a full French dinner with a full entree, full main etc. They learn from a young age to control their portion sizes.]

But of course, while there are rules about how to cut cheese, how much to eat, when to eat it etc, in the end, cheese is just there to be eaten. So I say: eat it however, whenever and in whatever quantities you like!

This article claims that it’s because the French have acquired a certain taste for burnt dishwater, but I think it’s more that they havent been exposed to anything better.

Which I find REALLY strange. I mean, they really do train their children to have sensitive palates, they appreciate [...]]]> But no – coffee in Paris really IS bad.

This article claims that it’s because the French have acquired a certain taste for burnt dishwater, but I think it’s more that they havent been exposed to anything better.

Which I find REALLY strange. I mean, they really do train their children to have sensitive palates, they appreciate the subtleties of flavour and they insist on quality of their food and drink.

Why not coffee?

There are plenty of Italians and Spanish in Paris – why havent they kicked up a stink? Why havent they set up their own coffee shops to sell coffee like they have in Rome or Barcelona?

I suspect that this is part of France’s cultural pride and insistence on assimilation of foreigners.

Too proud to admit their coffee is crap and intolerant of people retaining their own culture within France (despite public declarations of welcoming all those in need of a home).

It really brings home just how coffee-centric we are in Australia.

Most cafes wouldn’t even dream of putting someone behind the coffee machine unless they’d been to (at least one) barista course and had several years experience.

If a cafe has bad coffee, we wont go back. And if the coffee is good (like my old local Single Origin in Surry Hills), then we’ll line up on the street for 20mins and pay $3.50 without question.

I know a couple of Frenchies who have been converted to Sydney “Lattes”. I cant wait to convert a few more!

I’ve hard about the coffee shop mentioned at the end of the article. I’ll have to pay them a little visit in the hope that I will, finally, find a great cup of delicious coffee a little closer to home than Rome or Sydney….

http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/04/08/ristretto-why-is-coffee-in-paris-so-bad/

I have made so many mistakes, but [...]]]> There are a lot of things about eating (and drinking!) that people dont know when they come to Paris. Some things will be overlooked as simple cultural misunderstandings, but other things will have Parisians seriously fuming and talking in hushed tones with their colleagues about how “rude” tourists are.

I have made so many mistakes, but each mistake has brought me further and further behind the Parisian “Cold Front”: the seemingly impenetrable facade of arrogance and disinterest.

I’ve added to this list for about a year now. I keep adding and adding, never knowing when the list will be complete and I can finally write a nice piece on them (or perhaps have an idea of how to break them up into little sub-categories. But having all these incomplete posts in my drafts is driving me batty! so I’m just going to post my list and come back to it later (perhaps when I get an offer for a book deal….. lol).

And this list form is probably easier for you all to read as well! (but dont be surprised if I start changing it bit by bit and it starts to look more and more categorised and polished!)

Entering and Leaving a Cafe/Restaurant/Bar

• Golden Rule for all restaurants, cafes, bars and small shops: You MUST say “Bonjour Monsieur” or “Bonjour Madame” to the first person you see (and also any other waiters/staff you pass as you head to your table). The French see eating establishments and shops in the same way as they see their home. Would you walk into someone’s house without saying hello and casually go through their cupboards? Do you not say good night to you friends as you leave after dinner? Waiters are not there to provide a service to anyone who walks in the door, in the same way that you dont have to accept just anyone into your house. Behave badly, and a waiter will be sure to tell you, or ask you to leave. You are there to ASK if they would SO GRACIOUSLY provide you with a coffee. It’s the restaurants decision as to whether they will serve you or not. And in Paris, with so many tourists, they really CAN afford to be picky. They would much rather be treated with respect than take your money. They are proud people. Which is kinda noble, in a way, but is also perhaps a factor contributing to France’s languishing economy.

• When leaving an establishment, always say at least one of the following “Merci” (Thank you), “Au revoir” (Good bye), “Bonne journee” (Have a good day). If you manage to squeeze in all three, you’re on a winner!

Dealing with waiters during the meal

These points are actually universal for dealing with Frenchies in any situation. They are guaranteed winners for getting a gentle, helpful response and a smile.

• Always apologise first when you need to ask a question or seek their assistance. Even if you dont know how to say this in French, say it in English and put an “I’m sorry” expression on your face. The classic line is “Excuse me, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I have a small problem…..”.
• To get somones attention in a cafe/restaurant you say: “S’il vous plait…”

Coffee Rules

“Un cafe” literally translates as “a coffee”. But in practical terms, it means a small cup of coffee, straight up: ie a short black or espresso. If you are asked if you would like a coffee, and you respond “Oui”, then your waiter will rush off and get you a short black. If you want another type of coffee then you need to respond with the name of the type of coffee you would like (even if that means not saying “Oui”). This is just done out of habit because most French people only drink short black coffees. They believe that milk in your coffee is bad for your liver (?).

If you want to be considered as a local, then a great way to show it is to ask for “une noisette”. This is the same as the Italian “Macchiato” and is basically an espresso (short black coffee) with a dollop of milk. (I think the French call it a “noisette” because the word means “Hazelnut” and that’s aboug the size of the blob of milk that goes in the cup. But maybe I just made that up…lol). Sometimes they add the blob of milk for you, but you may also get a jug of warm milk on the side to add to your own taste.

“Allonge” – This is a large black coffee, usually an espresso shot with some added hot water.

If you want a coffee with lots of milk (White Coffee, Flat White, Cafe Latte), then ask for a “Cafe Creme”. Whatever you do, dont ask for a “Cafe Au Lait”. You will most likely get a cup of disgusting American coffee that tastes like boiled dishcloths. Some places will do a Cappucino, but dont bank on it. France is also a little like Italy when it comes to coffee with lots of milk: It’s seen as a breakfast drink, and definitely not something to have with lunch or in the afternoon. But at the end of the day, just drink whatever you feel like and let the waiter give you a funny look – your stomach is the boss!

Sometimes you may be given a little (wrapped) square of dark chocolate with your coffee, or a little biscuit. If you’re lucky, you may be given a biscuit called a “speculoos”, which is a delicious spicy caramelised hunk of Belgian goodness!

Before you Start to Eat or Drink – The Aperitif

Most French people will have a little glass of something while they’re reading the menu and waiting for their meal to arrive.

You’re not obligated to drink alcohol, even a glass of juice or sparkling water is fine.

And of course, you can say that you dont want anything (but be prepared for the waiter and your fellow French diners to think you’re weird).

One classic French favourite is the “Kir”. It originates from the days when preservatives and cooling wasnt around and wine often went off quickly. To keep it “fresh” and to disguise the slightly off taste, they would add a dash of sweet fruity liqueur to the wine. These days, it’s often a nice little glass of white wine (usually Sancerre) with your choice of fruit liqueur: “Peche” (Peach), “Cassis” (Blackcurrant), or “Mure” (Blackberry/Mulberry) are the usual choices. To really go crazy, try a “Kir Royale”, which is a glass of champagne with Cassis. Yum…

Ordering Water with your Meal

It’s never required that you order a pricey bottle of water. Be like the French and ask for a carafe d’eau. If you want to order a bottle of water, ask for gazeuse (with gas) or plat (flat, without gas). Be sure to specify when you order.

Drinks dont normally come with ice, but you might get lucky. You can ask for some more though.

Choosing the Wine

Dont be put off by ordering wine by the carafe. It’s usually pretty good quality and not expensive.

If you have no idea which wine to order, ask the waiter (this also scores brownie points). Unlike Australia, nearly every French person has a fantastic wine knowledge and can happily recommend something to go with your meal and within your price-range (although, as always, beware the waiter who is just trying to get you to order the most expensive wine on the menu because you’re a “tourist”). If you’re too shy, then a Sancerre is a good white wine (although a bit sweet) and a Côte du Rhône is a red that will usually go with everything.

Ordering Meat Dishes

When ordering red meat you will always be asked how you would like it cooked.

Bleu (Blue) means “rare”. Raw meat, hardly cooked, which is how many French people eat beef.

Saignante is medium-rare.

A point (to the point) is medium

Bien cuit is well-done.

If you order something “Tartare” that means that the meat is raw, completely uncooked. Steak Tartare is a French speciality and comes mixed with raw egg, herbs and Wostershire sauce (sometimes Tabasco too). They may just give you the meat and you get to add everything else to your liking and mix it on the plate. You can also ask for this “Aller/Retour” (There and Back), which is the patty seared quickly on each side.

One thing that I absolutely insist on is that my Confit de Carnard (Duck Confit) be very very crispy on the outside. No flabby fatty skin thank you very much! I’m not the only one who thinks so either: http://www.davidlebovitz.com/archives/2009/01/where_is_the_best_duck_confit_in.html

When ordering, it’s best to ask for your Confit de Carnard “bien grille”, to guarantee a yummy crunchy skin.

Tipping

A service charge is always included in the amount shown on the bill (look for the words “service compris”, so tipping isnt really expected. It is still a nice way to show that you’ve been given good service though. Most Parisians just round up to the nearest dollar. For a sit down dinner for two, probably 2 or 3 euros is fine. That said, if you’ve had excellent service, then tipping 5 or 10% will certainly be appreciated To keep waiter’s tipping expectations down when you’re eating in touristy areas, make sure to mention that you’re Australian and not American…

It was pouring with rain this morning and no [...]]]> So, as promised, I turned up at Au Petit Fer at 8am this morning, ready to watch how they make their amazing Tarte Tatin. I was half expecting the owner not to remember our deal, or say that actually, they werent going to make it that day.

It was pouring with rain this morning and no one was in any of the cafes, and there were definitely none at Au Petit Fer.

And as expected, the owner did a double-take when he saw me, and then the lightbulb came on. “Ah! You’re here for the Tart Tatin! Have a seat, the chef will be starting to make it in about 20 minutes. Would you like a coffee while you wait?”

We chatted about this and that, his elderly mother yelling at him while she mopped the floor before the day’s service.

I got the call and we headed out the back to the kitchen.

Now, I’ve been to this cafe numerous times, and I guess I always thought that the tiny space I could see through the service window of the kitchen door was just a corridor to the main kitchen. WRONG. The tiny corridor IS the kitchen. How they make anything in that space besides toasted sandwiches is a miracle.

I was introduced to the chef and he started to explain how to start the dish while he stirred in the butter and sugar in a pan over the gas cooktop. This guy is an absolute natural for a TV cooking show. Young, tall, dark and handsome with a friendly, easy-going manner. As soon as he realised that I actually wanted some details on the cooking process, he got excited and started to stream out all the bits and pieces and tips and tricks. *swoon*….food porn…

The whole process actually takes from 8.30am until midday (including cooling time), and obviously I didnt hang around for the whole time. But the basics of how they make their tart is really unique and explains why, in my opinion, it really is the best Tarte Tartin in all of Paris. I’m so glad I got to see how they do it.

Now I just need to do a few trials at home….

Over all though, what a fantastic experience, what generosity. Of course, they want me to come back and bring friends and advertise, but I felt like this was going beyond what was necessary for good customer relations.

And I got my coffee for free!

I cant tell [...]]]> About 3 months after I arrived in Paris, and after a multitude of visits to my favourite cafes and bars, hoping desperately that I would one day become like one of the Parisians and be greeted warmly by the barman, I was finally recognised by the barman at Au Petit Fer du Cheval.

I cant tell you how satisfying that was

At first it was just the barman in the evening. A flicker of recognition in his eyes. A slight smile. The next time, it was a full smile, and a “comment ca va?” (“how are you going?”), which is usually reserved only for friends.

Over the following visits, it turned into playful banter, conversations, and unexpected generosity. Like when I had a cold, but had made arrangements to meet some people for networking purposes and went anyway. The barman was shocked that I ordered a cup of tea at 8pm, but realised that I was sick. He looked concerned, and said that I should have some honey and lemon with my tea because it would be good for me. Before I could say anything, my tea, a pot of honey and some slices of lemon were sitting in front of me.

Over the last couple of weeks, the owner who works during the day started to remember me. Yesterday, Lisa and I stopped by at 4pm for a coffee and a slice (slice? more like a slab) of Tarte Tatin (caramelised apple tart) with deliciously sour creme fraiche. I clapped my hands excitedly when my plate arrived and the owner and barman laughed at me. The owner said “you know, this is really easy to make at home.”. I agreed that it looked easy but I had no idea how to make it, let alone make it as delicious as they did. He said: “Next Friday, at 8am, come past, and you can come to the kitchen and watch how we make it.” “Are you sure?” I said, and he held out his hand to shake on it.

Last week, they said I should bring my business cards down to the bar because they often have lawyers stop by and they would be able to let them know I was looking for work.

People say that French waiters can be really rude (I’ve got another post coming on that topic). And its true, sometimes they can be. There are reasons for it, which I’ll attempt to explain in the other post. But once you get past the initial “waiter/client” barrier, and you’ve established yourself as a “regular”, or even just someone who is polite, most waiters will go out of their way for you.

A friend told me that they once went to the same cafe in Potts Point (Sydney) every morning for 2 weeks and not only did the same waiter never remember his order, he didnt even remember his face.

Can you imagine Bill Granger (famous Sydney chef) inviting you to join him in the kitchen to watch how they make their pancakes? I think not….