OMS: Charcuterie=cancer?

Y-a-t-il plus qu'une chose dans cette photo qui tue?

Quand l'Organisation Mondiale de la Santé a dit que la charcuterie et la viande rouge menaient directement au cancer, j'étais tout de suite convaincu d'une chose: les Français allaient trouver cette nouvelle tout à fait ridicule. Heureusement, j'habite parmi vous, et j'ai eu raison. On est du même avis.

Après tout, en France -- comme en Italie, Espagne, Allemagne, etc. -- on mange ces produits-là depuis des siècles. D'après ce que j'ai constaté, il reste quand même des populations importantes dans ces pays. Autrement dit, les gens ne meurent pas à cause du saucisson. Au moins pas uniquement.

100% of French People Will Probably Have Cancer

[NDLR: Le dernier post en français se trouve ici; un nouveau est prévu pour jeudi.]

Three generations break into some jambon persillé

It is a shocking headline, isn't it? But, on the heels of the WHO's findings released recently, I don't see how it is possible that every single French person isn't just a walking cancer case. Here: "For processed meat, researchers found “sufficient” and “convincing” evidence that it causes cancer.” The agency estimates that every 50-gram portion of processed meat eaten daily increases the risk of cancer by about 18 percent." 

Let the WHO define processed meat for us: "Processed meat refers to meat that has been salted, cured, fermented, smoked, or undergone other processes to enhance flavor or to improve preservation, according to the WHO. Most processed meats contain pork or beef, but processed meats can also contain other poultry, offal, meat byproducts such as blood, or other red meats. Examples of processed meat include: Hot dogs, ham, sausage, corned beef, beef jerky, canned meat, and meat-based sauces and preparations."

Now, I have been living in France for two years and the average diet, in my unscientific observations, includes approximately 1,000,000,000,000 grams of processed meat per year.

Une différence culturelle

Le château de Santenay au printemps

Suite au portrait dans le Journal du Palais, vous verrez désormais un post en français tous les lundis et jeudis. D’avance, je vous remercie pour votre fidélité. Également, je vous prie de bien vouloir m’excuser pour toutes fautes grammaticales ou autres…c’est ma deuxième langue…je fais ce que je peux.

Mon village en Bourgogne, d’une poignée d’habitants, où le feu rouge le plus proche se situe à 20 minutes de chez moi, est la définition de la France profonde. On se plaît bien ici, et on a été très bien reçus depuis notre arrivée il y a deux ans.

Néanmoins, on constate des grosses différences entre la vie ici et la nôtre aux States. L’exemple du jour se trouve dans la manière de gérer un business. Je suis souvent dans le vignoble bourguignon pour découvrir le terroir, les grands crus, et les vignerons qui passent leurs journées en taillant, traitant, et travaillant leurs vignes. C’est plutôt magnifique comme expérience, et ça serait dommage de passer à coté, n’est-ce pas ?

Garden Party

Garden party

We had snow the other day. In October. Everyone was caught off-guard, and everyone was, well, a little annoyed by it. So, let's go back to a fond memory of the end of summer.

The invite said that it was going to be a casual gathering for our friend's 50th birthday party. Our children, ages 2.5 and nearly 5, were "la bienvenue" and the host's daughter might even pitch in to help out with the kids. A Sunday afternoon garden party sounded like a nice way to end the summer, so we were all-in. I had the kids practicing their "bonjours" and their bisous to get ready for seeing all the grown-ups and I put on shorts, my hiking shoes, and a short-sleeved button-down shirt. With temperatures expected to pass 90, I was ready to be casual. 

Arriving at the house at 12:30, the hostess and her daughter greeted us in snugly fitting black dresses. The teenage son was wearing a necktie. Most everyone seemed to be in pants, dresses, jewelry, and I spotted several shirts tucked in. Uh-oh, maybe I was taking this casual thing a little too, well, casually.

Pour les Français

Le jambon persillé à l'ancienne, spécialité bourguignonne

Si vous avez vu mon article dans le Courrier International (page IV), bienvenue sur mon petit blog. Merci d’avoir lu mon point de vue sur votre vie associative. Depuis notre arrivé en Bourgogne en décembre 2013, on a été très bien accueillis en Bourgogne. Vous êtes, et nous sommes, très bien ici. Vous pouvez voir plusieurs articles en anglais sur ce site, mais je vous invite à me contacter si vous voulez avoir un peu plus en français.

Bonne lecture,

ML

Vineyard Walk

On the heels of a published piece in Sunday's Valley News, here are some photos taken today in the vineyards around Santenay and Chassagne-Montrachet, the former a "bargain" appellation in Burgundy, the latter a wine for king's and presidents.

The color...

Scoop Part Deux

Pray for Us...or for me when I start writing for French newspapers

(Self-promotion: Check out my latest published article detailing WWII commemorations in Burgundy in the link to the right...)

When you are sitting in a café at 10:00am in France with your spouse, enjoying a morning espresso, you really shouldn't answer your phone when it rings with a number you don't recognize. It is just so American to be so available all the time. A lot of French people seem to live by a few simple rules:

1. Never respond to emails
2. If you want to nap, unplug (landline) or turn off your phone
3. Ignore voicemails
4. Assure people to their face that you will follow up promptly. Then don't.

But, alas, I have that Stars and Stripes gene, so I keep answering calls, responding to electronic mails, and having my coffee time interrupted. It was the agency chief calling with my first assignment.

Before diving into the details of the task, let's take a bird's-eye view of the situation, pretending to be the agency chief (A man I enjoy and like tremendously).

"OK, I have a new local correspondent in Arnay-le-Duc. He has no journalistic experience whatsoever. He is not from the town, the region, or even the country. He is American. Recently, I made him write in French with a pen to see if he could actually string consecutive words together in a grammatically correct fashion. He has no network in the area, no favors to call in, and no track record."