Emily in France 🇫🇷 3 Ways I'm Frencher than I Once Was
I've been here 18 years... and it shows.
I had been living in Paris for 11 years when I became French “by decree” in 2018. But while I may have my burgundy passport, there are some ways in which I’ll probably never be truly French. (These include desiring something larger than a shot glass for the consumption of water and refusing to wear a scarf once the weather hits 18 degrees.)
But living in France has certainly changed me in some ways, something that struck me when I came across this post from Karen Karbo detailing 30 "road-tested ways to evaluate how French you are."
I agreed with many of them, including the very first – You’ve come to think of a two-and-a-half-hour meal as eat and run. – as evidenced by a recent text exchange with a friend:
To Karbo’s already phenomenal list, I decided to add a few of my own.
You feel like access to culture is your right.
I was already armed with my French Master’s degree when I applied for citizenship, which exempted me from the language portion of my integration evaluation. That said, I did have to answer a few cultural questions, namely to cite an important date and person in French history and defend my choices. And seeing as these questions were asked while I was shuffling through my tax documents, I panicked and cited perhaps the two most boring answers: 1789 (French Revolution) and Napoleon (you may have heard of him). When asked to defend the latter, I doubled down, dredging up the story of how the Emperor-to-be opened the Louvre to the public, essentially democratizing the formerly royal art collection. (…Kinda.)
While my answer – and Napoleon’s actions – were certainly imperfect, I do think that this entire interaction reflected a particularly French approach to culture, especially as it concerns accessibility.
In France, culture is not reserved for the haves – it’s for everyone. And you can see this reflected in a host of laws and norms both official and societal.
Take the French school system, for example. As Viv Groskop writes in Au Revoir Tristesse, philosophy has been a compulsory school subject in French public schools since 1808 – and this from age 11.
‘In philo, as French students call it, they are called upon to write four-hour essays on such subjects as ‘Can a scientific truth be dangerous’ and ‘Is it one’s own responsibility to find happiness?’ When asked about the purpose of teaching philosophy to young people, the French national education inspector replied that the main objective of the course was ‘to develop a capacity for personal reflection.’
Even if you didn't attend French public school, you can reap the benefits of this cultural accessibility in everything from the very existence of Livres de poche, paperbacks which retail for a handful of euros, to museum ticket prices, which are reduced or even elided for children, job seekers and retirees. Museums are also rendered more accessible by way of their opening hours; most of the city’s 130 museums have a weekly noctourne, or night opening, with hours extended to 9pm or later.
Given these policies – and a host of regular temporary exhibits, dubbed expos by the Parisians – museums are a regular part of my life here. I’ve recently visited the Pompidou's surrealism exhibit, the Quai Branly’s exhibit on Zombis, and an excellent exhibit on “degenerate” art at the Picasso museum. It’s a regular part of my and other Parisians’ day-to-day and one for which I’m very grateful.
You have the uncontrollable urge to râle.
One oddity of the path to French citizenship is that you’re often French for several days – or even several weeks – before you know about it. Several months had transpired before I received the letter in the mail that told me I had been French since mid-November. (While this waiting time can be excruciating, mine was rendered slightly less painful thanks to the fonctionnaire who took pity on me and, as I was leaving the room following my accidental apology of the Napoleonic Empire, said: “Just so you know… if it’s bad news, you usually find out quickly.”)
I knew about this quirk in the system thanks to a friend who had already applied and earned her own citizenship. For months, I joked that I would know when my citizenship had finally been granted before receiving the letter, seeing as I would suddenly and inexplicably be seized by an uncontrollable urge to complain.
Râler, as I wrote for the BBC, is a particularly French past time, a sort of joyful complaining or grousing. It might sound pessimistic to an American ear, and indeed, I think it’s part of what makes Americans stereotype the French as negative. But this linguistic tic is far more complicated than a glass-half-empty mentality. Indeed, the proclivity for complaining is actually indicative of an ingrained cultural reality.
The French on the whole are suspect of unbridled optimism, associating it with naïveté or even idiocy. By identifying problem areas – whether regarding government policy or simply the view from table at which one has been sat at a restaurant – one isn’t being critical, exactly. Instead, the French interpret this as opening the door or discussion, debate, or conversation. And avoir de la conversation – literally “having conversation,” or having repartee, something to say – is a deep-seated French value.
In short? Being incendiary in France is far more forgivable than being boring, and having an opinion makes you way more interesting than being polite for the sake of it.
Your perception – and value – of time has shifted.
I grew up in New York City, where even social interactions are governed by the “hard stop” parameter. I don't know how to say “hard stop,” in French, because that’s not the way that time works here.
This is even more palpable in the countryside, where social and even professional interactions aren't scheduled so much as suggested. I can't tell you how many cheesemakers I’ve interviewed have invited me to drop by dans la matinée, or en début d’après-midi, leaving me to guess when in the morning or early afternoon would be apt.
And this isn't the only way in which French time is a bit more… elastic. If you're invited to a French person’s house for 8pm, it would be rude to appear any earlier than 8:15, a quirk known as the quart d’heure de politesse, or quarter-hour of politeness. But once you're there, you're there to stay.
It’s rare, even in Paris, for people to book back-to-back social interactions. Planning apéro with one friend before you go to a dinner party with others is seen, not as efficient, but rude – and seeing as French parties can last for hours, it’s not that surprising. To wit, I once ended up at a Sunday lunch so convivial and lengthy I had to eclipse myself to the bathroom to cancel dinner plans with a friend, seeing as we’d already been at the table for six hours.
But that’s another story for another day.
Cheese of the Week
Camembert is omnipresent in French cheese cases, but no two are quite alike. Industrial, pasteurized versions are common on supermarket shelves, and while they're certainly gooey, sticky, and mushroomy, they don't hold a candle to what a true Camembert de Normandie fermier can offer.
This one in particular came from a small producer in the village of Camembert, one I met while filming this segment on Camembert’s potential endangerment for NBC. With its rich texture, relatively thin, flavorsome rind, and aromas encapsulating everything from raw, lactic butter to cauliflower-cheese, it was a delicious discovery.
To discover more of my favorite cheeses, be sure to follow me on Instagram @emily_in_france, subscribe to my YouTube channel, and tune into the Terroir Podcast, where Caroline Conner and I delve into France's cheese, wine, and more one region at a time.
What I’m Eating
The appetizers are pitch perfect at Hôtel du Nord, and while I have some quibbles with the rest, it’s hard to think of a more picture-perfect dining room with a view of the Canal. More on the blog.
Where I’m Going
1. To see Le Porteur d’Histoire, an award-winning play from Alexis Michalik I saw once, years ago, and am thrilled to be seeing again.
2. To le Grand Véfour, a stunning restaurant not far from the Louvre, to see if the luxurious dining room delivers as wow-worthy a plate.
3. To les Halles, where I’m running a special pastry tour for a group of Americans traveling with kids. Check out this and my other food tour offerings here.
What I’m Doing
I’m so excited to announce the next dates for TERRE/MER, the ceramics and culinary retreat I co-host in the Mediterranean seaside town of la Ciotat. This long weekend is governed by creativity and terroir, encompassing a 10-hour ceramics workshop, three locally-sourced meals a day (prepared with love by yours truly), hands-on cooking workshops, a cheese tasting (bien sûr), and more.
We'll be welcoming our next small group September 4-7. Take advantage of our Early Bird discount – a nearly 100-euro savings – by booking your spot now!
What I'm Writing
1. Not writing… but I helped with behind-the-scenes prep for this episode of Milk Street delving into new bistro classics including a surprising take on French Onion Soup, garlic toasts, and croque monsieur.
2. Real dairy milk is making a comeback. Is that a yay? Find out what experts think as they lay out an argument for raw vs pasteurized vs plant milks and their implications for human and environmental health. For Organic Authority.
3. From the archives: Earlier this year, cheese fans panicked following the publication of new research on essential cheesemaking moulds, certain the end was nigh for beloved Brie and Camembert. For the BBC.
FAQs
With the goal of bringing you the content you crave, I'm soliciting your help. What questions can I answer for you? Drop them into the newsletter chat, and I’ll answer as many as I can!
This week’s question comes from subscriber Command Central.
Emily, I'm wondering if you have any favorite Celiac friendly restaurants for us to try while visiting Paris. Also, if there are any tips you have for interacting with restaurants regarding this challenge with gluten we'd love to learn more from you. Thanks!
I have some experience navigating food intolerances at French restaurants, seeing as I have a deathly buckwheat allergy. And unfortunately, I’ve found a certain cavalier approach in most spots that don't specialize in managing dietary restrictions. Misunderstandings and cross-contamination are frequent problems, and when your aversion is serious – as Celiac is – it can be frustrating or even futile to convey.
I’ve found that the best way to navigate any allergy or intolerance is to plan ahead by letting the restaurant know when you reserve. I make most of my reservations online, adding the phrase allergie grave au sarrasin (severe buckwheat allergy) to the notes. Though those with Celiac may want to say, instead, Celiac (allergie grave au gluten). (I know that Celiac isn't an allergy, but this phrasing may help people who don't know what it is.)
If you want to be completely secure in your choices, choose restaurants and shops that specialize in gluten-free offerings. La Crème de Paris makes organic buckwheat galettes, aka savory crêpes, which are certified gluten-free, and I’ve heard great things about Little Nonna, a gluten-free Italian restaurant. I personally love Judy, a gluten-free, plant-driven spot near the Luxembourg Gardens, and La Sajerie’s gluten-free Levantine street food is a great option to grab on the go.
To take advantage of the famed French bread and pastries, check out gluten-free bakeries like Copains, Chambelland, and La Manufacture Sans Gluten. Maison Plume is a gorgeous gluten-free tea house in the Marais whose pastries I absolutely adore.
If you don’t necessarily want to visit exclusively gluten-free restaurants, hotel restaurants may be more equipped to manage gluten-free requests. I had great experiences at Galanga and Les Parisiens. You can also source your own groceries at the plentiful outdoor markets, so that you have complete control over your meal.
What I'm Reading
1. The plot of Ce que je sais de toi feels quite familiar – forbidden love hindered by meddling relatives and deux ex machina – rendered with a fresh perspective that I ultimately felt a bit overly removed. While there was much to admire in the complex family relationships in the book – and the way in which each of the characters coped with the reality that few were able to address head-on – I ultimately finished this book feeling as though I hadn't truly been let in.
2. This gorgeous lyric essay that (almost!) has me rethinking my aversion to eating in bed. In Vittles.
3. This ode to Oscar Wilde as imaginary friend, trailblazer, and Sad Boy. In I’m Fine I’m Fine Just Understand.
A bientôt !