When living abroad, as I
do with my family in rural Burgundy, France, it does not take long to notice
the little differences between here and home. It is only with time, however,
that one begins to comprehend the cultural links in the chain. Eventually,
experience and simple observation help decode the mysterious until the
relationship between two seeming oddities becomes part of the social logic of a
foreign land.
Take, for example, one of
the ironclad rules of French life: “On ne
mange pas entre les repas.” One does not eat between meals. At first
glance, this dictum helps explain why, generally, French people are thinner
than Americans. Imagine eliminating every muffin or bagel you snitch at during
your mid-morning break at work. Wouldn’t you be able to tighten your belt an additional
notch or two if you never had that “whoops-I-ate-the-whole-thing”
bag of Smartfood or shared a snack with your children in the afternoon?
But there is more to it
than simply eschewing edibles outside of proscribed mealtimes. The repasts
themselves explain the overriding philosophy. If you ditched your bland turkey
sandwich at noon in favor of an appetizer of poached eggs in red wine sauce, a
main course of rosy, sliced duck breast in a honey-mustard sauce with
skillet-browned potatoes and green beans, followed inexorably by a cheese course
and a slice of apple tart, it would be much easier to stave off a case of the
afternoon hungries.
Our journey with this
seemingly innocuous maxim is not over. Because the entire population has
absorbed the words and accepted them as near-Biblical truth, supermarkets,
small grocery stores, and the weekly outdoor markets that dot the countryside
offer astonishingly little to eat on the go. There are no hot dog carts, no hot
slices of pizza, no deli counters offering made-to-order sandwiches, no little
tubs of carrot sticks and hummus. Even at rest stops on the highways, one eats,
seated, with metal flatware and chooses from several hot plats du jour.
The No Take Out mantra
applies to drinks as well. I cannot recall ever seeing a French person perambulating
with a cup of hot coffee or a bottle of water. Nobody drinks any type of
beverage in the car. A Frenchman in the street almost never has his hands full.
This national empty-handedness
leads to the final reality stemming from a refusal to nibble. Because one is
never carrying anything disposable, there is a surprising dearth of refuse
receptacles on the Burgundy landscape. Perhaps more surprising, the ones that
are provided for passers-by are almost universally empty. But it makes perfect
sense. If we think back to the original premise – on ne mange pas entre les repas – and then consider what goes into the
trash cans on busy US streets, the differences are clear. No white butcher
paper wrapping a submarine sandwich, no paper bags, no straws, no take out
coffee cups, no empty Doritos bags, no foil that wrapped your egg and cheese on
an English, nothing to do with food. In other words, they don’t need a trash
can because they never have trash with them because they never eat between
meals and, when they do eat, they eat at a table with real utensils and dishes.
What do you think? A
stretch? I actually think I am right.
