WTF?!--What the French

by Olivier Magny

  The king of the commerce de bouche is undoubtedly the boulangerie. Most French people are lucky enough to have several boulangeries to choose from. It shall be noted here that every single French household has a boulangerie préférée, which makes bread superior to the other ones in the vicinity and is absolutely worth the extra seconds or minutes necessary to get to it. The level of intimacy most French people have with their local boulangerie(s) is such that they know what time of day warm bread and viennoiseries (croissants, pains au chocolat, etc.) come out of the oven or which boulangerie/pâtisserie near them makes the best gâteaux (cakes).

  Next time you talk with a French person, please don’t make a fool of yourself by naively implying that the local boulangerie making the best bread is the same one making the best pastries. Come on—you’re better than this.

  Useful tip: Go to le marché!

  Sound like a French person: “Moi non plus, j’aime pas faire mes courses dans un hyper, mais c’est plus pratique. Qu’est-ce que tu veux que je te dise? Je peux me garer. Je mets le petit dans le caddie . . .” (I don’t like to shop in huge supermarkets either, but it’s more convenient. What can I say? It’s easy to park. I can put the little one in the cart . . .)

  NUTELLA

  French cuisine is the subject of much passion, reverence, and sometimes controversy. Many foreigners imagine French kitchens to be wonderful treasure troves of mysterious spices wafting from sunlit pantries and homegrown herbs hanging from the ceiling.

  However, the true secret weapon of a French kitchen is not rosemary, basil, or thyme.

  It is Nutella.

  The unsung trinity of French kitchens is as unlikely as it is a given: salt, pepper, Nutella. Nowhere else in the world has Nutella reached the status it has in France.

  The Nutella culture in France is absolutely massive. Anyone in their thirties or younger grew up with Nutella. The ultimate versatile bribe for any parent—perfect on bread for breakfast or goûter—is undoubtedly the surest way to get a child to eat when he doesn’t want to.

  While the chocolaty hazelnut spread is generally found on bread, toast, croissants, or crêpes, any French person born after 1975 can remember the childhood delights of plunging a spoon into un pot de Nutella and sucking on the decadent spoonful. Bliss.

  As one ages, the amount and frequency with which you eat Nutella usually drops. Nutella becomes an occasional treat, typically reserved for a special weekend or vacation breakfast.

  The freshness of the pot de Nutella, revealed by its texture, is a clear indicator of just how much love the spread gets in the household. Storage conditions also have an impact on freshness and, just like ketchup, mustard, jam, or vinegar, Nutella is one of those household staples where two irreconcilable schools of thought coexist about the optimal way to store it: the fridge crowd vs. the cabinet posse. These two groups can, however, handle each other with only minor clashes between roommates or family members. That is not the case for the two sides of another, far more controversial argument over the beloved hazelnut spread.

  This conflict involves those Nutella enthusiasts who refer to Nutella as feminine and those who refer to it as masculine: le Nutella vs. la Nutella. As masculine is the most commonly used, it will come as no surprise that any person using the feminine will be viewed as a weirdo.

  One generation ago, when Nutella initially gained popularity, most parents bought Nutella to satisfy their children, but very few consumed it. Attempts to suggest noble substitutes like honey or jam were frequent but typically pointless. The expression cochonnerie was commonly applied. Usually counterproductively, since what grown-ups call cochonneries, ranging from bonbons to Nutella, from chewing gum to marshmallows . . . is obviously the good stuff.

  One generation later, the Nutella kids are now Nutella parents. And the splurging no longer divides French families. Finally, French parents absolutely understand that Nutella is delicious and it’s no longer uncommon to walk into a kitchen and catch Mom or Dad savoring a spoonful straight from the jar.

  Useful tip: It’s really bad for you, but if you’ve never done it before, make sure to eat a full spoonful of Nutella at least once.

  Sound like a French person: “Il reste du Nut?” (Any Nutella left?)

  PATRIOTIC BRAVADO

  When interacting with foreigners, many French people make it very clear that France has the best stuff in the world.

  Food? French is the best.

  Style? Nothing beats French fashion.

  Wine? Seriously, you want to go there?

  The logic extends beyond the areas for which France is traditionally well-known worldwide. Anytime a song composed by a French artist gets played overseas, the French person in attendance will not physically be able to hold back from saying smugly, “Did you know they’re French?”

  This statement will bring utmost satisfaction when the words of the song are in English (like most David Guetta, Daft Punk, and electro French songs). Bliss.

  While they fool (and frequently aggravate) most non-French, these statements could come as a surprise to anyone who happens to know France from the inside. For within the reality of our global marketplace, the average French person has primarily become a pizza eater who buys his clothes from H&M, drinks Coke, and listens to Rihanna.

  While they still specialize in occasional grandiloquent pro-French-stuff statements overseas, most French people know deep down that what they’re doing is truly putting on a show.

  The reality they witness on a daily basis exemplifies the exact opposite of their occasional patriotic bravado. Most French people are extremely aware of the dilapidation of the French cultural heritage. The proclaimed supremacy of the French stuff they champion overseas has more to do with a symbolic joust in favor of what they wish their country still was, rather than with a deep conviction that France is home to the best things in the world.

  The French, like most mildly annoying people, are just a little broken inside.

  Useful tip: Give French people a hug and tell them they’ll be okay.

  Sound like a French person: “Pour tout ce qui est train, on est quand même les meilleurs du monde.” (For anything train-related, we’re the best in the world.)

  THE FRENCH-AMERICAN DREAM

  Some say the American dream is dead. Not in France.

  While the odds of someone from a very humble background making it big are quite slim in France, some have recently showed that it is an actual possibility. Le rags to le riches!

  While real financial poverty in France is typically rural poverty in places where jobs and physical access to opportunities are scarce,* the collective perception is that real poverty lies in the banlieues—the outskirts of larger cities.

  French banlieues have grown to develop a culture of their own, with their own language, their own myths, their own heroes. Some of these heroes are people who grew up in the banlieues, were shaped by their roughness, and yet managed to make it big. The most common examples are to be found in three fields:

  Sports: The following names might not resonate with American readers who are not versed in soccer, but the French banlieues have honed countless professional players, as well as some of the greatest talents in the game over the past two decades: Nicolas Anelka, Karim Benzema, the list goes on. In these players’ attitude remains an indefectible banlieue touch in the form of a roughness, an angularity that fame, success, and riches have not managed to brush off. These traits are a double-edged sword. Once success is there, these guys are typically considered larger than life to those in their poor neighborhoods who can recognize and appreciate the firm steadiness that tends to characterize these players. Fans who don’t understand what they have gone through struggle to connect with the absence of smiles, the way of speaking, and the unpolished air of these multimillionaire boys.

  Rap: Rap emanates from the banlieues and
its most illustrious names are pure banlieusards: des mecs des quartiers (guys from the hood). While the money and fame can’t compare with that of soccer stars, there is no doubt that big rappers—big names like Booba, La Fouine, Rohff, etc.—have manifested a form of success and a sense of accomplishment and recognition that many aspire to.

  Comedy: In the wake of the success of comedian Jamel Debbouze, a generation of comedians from the banlieues has grown to be big in the world of comedy and entertainment. The most striking example is probably Omar Sy, who recently appeared in Hollywood blockbusters like X-Men: Days of Future Past and Jurassic World.

  Just like in impoverished urban areas in America, many in the French banlieues dream of success in rap or sports. Just like in America, some make it. There too, however, the odds are slim. Probably more so than in America, many youngsters feel that other opportunities—those requiring an education—are simply too far for them to reach. This new French dream, shared by countless teenagers, surely reflects the Americanization of the culture and aspirations in growing sections of the French territory and population. It is, however, a much-needed dream, one that some have realized, and one that generates treasures of hope, pride, energy, and motivation.

  Ultimately, it does not matter if not many squeeze through the tiny exit door. The French banlieue has its heroes and its role models. Associating hard work and tremendous rewards in the minds of millions of young French people will no doubt reap tremendous rewards for the country in the decades to come, far beyond the world of sports and rap. Watch it, world: French youth is only getting stronger!

  Useful tip: Check out the video 94, c’est le Barça (the number 94 is a banlieue zip code and Barça is one of the most prestigious and successful soccer teams in the world).

  Sound like a French person: “Et l’autre là, ça lui écorcherait la face, un sourire?” (Look at that one—would a smile hurt his face?)

  IDEOLOGICAL TRANSFORMATIONS

  The cultural paradigm at work in France is that of a certain cultural liberalism: on paper, all members of French society can live their lives freely as they intend it.

  While this sounds ideal in theory, it has led to what the French call les problèmes de société, causing rifts to form between different groups of people. Examples are daily and countless: advocates work toward gay marriage, which divides them and their supporters from religious Muslims and Christians who hold opposite beliefs; those pushing for more government spending against those who want lower taxes; even activists combating GMO farming, who frustrate agro-science professionals. The direct consequence of these divides is an increased atomization of French society, which pushes people to turn inward toward their own communities—others with the same views and belief systems—to find mental and spiritual refuge.

  The proportion of French people who share common values is shrinking at a fast pace. However, there is one thing most humans have in common: money. The market reunites for a few moments people who are otherwise different in every possible way. In every French city, Saturday is the day of le shopping, and entire crowds, of all colors, origins, and creeds, flock to the new temples of modern consumption. Their common identity stems from consumption. The new normal—in France like in so many other countries—is a slow but constant morphing of unique individuals into a vague bunch of apathetic but sovereign consumers.

  As an example, the sense of the importance of beauty is no longer as commonly shared in France as Francophiles would think. You can hate the hideous zones commerciales that have popped up all over the French territory, disfiguring the landscape, but there is little to be done about that. In this new society, aesthetic sensibilities are by essence personal and consequently irrelevant to overriding political action and financial gain. The result of this approach is that, short of a common moral, aesthetic, or philosophical compass uniting people, all issues are resolved based solely on how the economy will be impacted. In a very un-French twist, the new religion of economic growth is to substitute itself for the absence of common morality and philosophy.

  Until recently, it was a peculiar charm of the French that not everything boiled down to money, the economy, and the market. The French mind-set tended to value things like conviviality or beauty over money and profit. But at some point the legal, ideological, and fiscal framework of the country pointed the compass in a new direction, somewhere east of mercantile and north of consumerism.

  As a consequence, the French might have lost some charm and their country grown less pretty, but that is inevitably put into perspective of the true valuable measure of success in a modern society: economic growth. Surely, money is spent and money is earned. The cult of endless economic growth on a finite planet, in a country where growth has been dwindling for several years, is still going strong.

  Nevertheless, terms like sobriété heureuse (happy sobriety) and décroissance volontaire (voluntary decline) are popping up in conversations more and more frequently in certain circles. It is a beautiful thing to see people going against their programming in a country where the entirety of the political class repeats incessantly that the key to a successful society is more growth, more productivity, more purchasing power, and—ultimately—more consumption.

  Useful tip: Research shows that spending money on experiences rather than things is more conducive to happiness.

  Sound like a French person: “Mais tu ne peux plus dire des choses comme ça de nos jours!” (But you just can’t say things like that anymore these days!)

  THE OBSESSION WITH FOOD

  Food has long been a French obsession. As such, the vocabulary of food has deeply penetrated the French language.

  The extent of it is unfathomable to most non-Francophones. So while a French person who learns a few food terms in English can then order food in English, the foreigner who learns a few French food terms can travel throughout the French-speaking world and get to experience nothing less than the full range of life’s events and emotions.

  Life hack: To become fluent in French, just focus on food terms.

  Okay, let’s start easy:

  This girl’s ugly!

  C’est un thon! (She’s a tuna!)

  But that guy still wants to have sex!

  Mais il veut tremper le biscuit! (He wants to dip the biscuit!)

  Turns out she’s gonna get some!

  Elle va passer à la casserole! (She’s getting in the saucepan!)

  He’s put on quite a belly!

  Il a pris de la brioche! (He’s taken on some brioche!)

  Does he have a good job?

  Il a un bon gagne-pain? (Does he have a good breadwinner?)

  Mind your own business!

  Occupe-toi de tes oignons! (Mind your onions!)

  We got into an argument.

  On s’est frités. (We French-fried each other).

  He lied to me!

  Il m’a raconté des salades! (He told me salads!)

  He started to make a big deal out of it.

  Il en a fait tout un fromage. (He made a cheese out of it).

  So I punched him and knocked him out.

  Donc je lui ai mis une patate et il est tombé dans les pommes. (So I gave him a potato and he fell in the apples.)

  Did you see that fat guy?

  Tu as vu le gros lard? (Did you see the big lard?)

  With the tall girl?

  Avec la grande asperge? (With the big asparagus?)

  He lives three blocks from here.

  Il habite à trois pâtés de maisons. (He lives three house pâtés from here.)

  Speed up!

  Appuie sur le champignon! (Press on the mushroom!)

  We’re gonna get soaked!

  On va se faire saucer! (We’re gonna get sauced!)

  You’re annoying.

  T’es casse-bonbons. (You’re a candy breaker.)

  C’est un navet, ce film, de toute
façon! (This movie is a turnip anyway!)

  Now, some foods terms the French simply love . . . a little too much. Chou is one of them. Chou means “cabbage”; in the world of pastry—and in most of the following phrases—it also refers to a delicious and adorable little puff. In France, you can have entire conversations using only that one word:

  He’s so cute!

  Il est chou! (He’s cabbage!)

  Yes, but he’s getting on my nerves!

  Oui, mais il me broute le chou! (He’s grazing my cabbage!) Or, alternately: Il me court sur le haricot! (He’s running on my bean!)

  He’s only a kid!

  Mais c’est un p’tit bout de chou! (He’s a little piece of cabbage!)

  Don’t worry about it!

  Te prends pas le chou avec ça! (Don’t take your cabbage with that!)

  I know. I’m out of it.

  Je sais. J’suis dans les choux. (I’m in the cabbages.)

  Another such word is patate, which is the colloquial form of pomme de terre (potato, or literally “apple of the earth”):

  I’m all shaken up!

  J’en ai gros sur la patate! (I have a lot on my potato!)

  The guy was punching everyone.

  Il distribuait des patates. (He was distributing potatoes.)

  It’s going to cost him a hundred grand.

  Ça va lui coûter cent patates. (It’s going to cost him a hundred potatoes.)

  That guy’s such an idiot!

  Mais quelle patate, ce mec! (That guy’s such a potato!)