Boudin (blood sausage) is another French favorite:
Are you pouting?
Tu fais du boudin? (Are you making blood sausage?)
No, but she’s so ugly!
Non, mais quel boudin! (What a blood sausage!)
In France, like in any other country, you have to deal with your fair share of stupid people. Generously, the French language offers a lovely display of food items to deal lightheartedly with such unfortunate characters. The following food items all refer to an idiot, but each with a different nuance, a certain level of endearment, and a specific target group:
Someone’s really bad at what they do?
That’s une truffe (a truffle) or une crêpe (a crêpe)!
A woman does not exactly display brilliance?
She’s une courge (a squash).
Need to gently call someone out for a silly move? Call them une nouille (a noodle), un cornichon (a gherkin), une patate (a potato), une pomme (an apple), une andouille (sausage generally made from pork intestines), or une banane (a banana). Those are quite endearing terms, frequently used to kindly mock children when they do something silly. Later on in life, wives will start using them on their husbands.
That is, if the relationship is a good one. If the relationship turns sour (si les choses tournent au vinaigre—if things turn to vinegar), or if the husband starts losing it (s’il pédale dans la choucroute—if he pedals in sauerkraut), food terms simply won’t cut it.
If that happens, even though they might get upset (la moutarde leur monte au nez—mustard goes up their nose), both halves of the couple will have to stay upbeat (garder la pêche or garder la frite—keep the peach or keep the French fry), and smile (avoir la banane—have the banana).
It is not easy (ce n’est pas de la tarte—it’s not pie), as one of them might be drunk too often (être beurré—be buttered), be ungrateful (cracher dans la soupe—spit in the soup), or simply have thin skin (être soupe au lait—be milk soup). It is key to toning it down (mettre de l’eau dans son vin—put water in your wine) and not to tell the other to get lost (d’aller se faire cuire un oeuf—to go cook himself an egg).
For if they don’t, it might end up costing them a lot (l’addition peut être salée—the check can be salty) and they would have to spend a lot of money (beaucoup d’oseille—a lot of sorrel), sometimes leaving one of them penniless (sans un radis—without a radish). At that point, it’s game over (les carottes sont cuites—the carrots are cooked)! Soon enough, they’ll both end up with graying hair (poivre et sel—salt and pepper) and with the feeling of having been owned (de s’être fait carotter—having been “carroted”). Next thing you know, they start going senile (ils commencent à sucrer les fraises—they start to sprinkle sugar on the strawberries), and if it’s the real deal (si c’est pas du flan—if it’s not flan), then let me tell you: it is not an easy situation (c’est pas du gâteau—it’s not cake)!
Useful tip: The teacher’s pet in France is referred to as le chouchou.
Sound like a French person: “Allez, on a du pain sur la planche!” (Come on, we’ve got some work to do! [Literally: We’ve got bread on the board!])
PERMISSIVENESS
Some stories would legitimately be rejected by movie producers for not being realistic enough.
So it’s the story of a convicted pedophile who’s reinstated as a schoolteacher and who goes back to abusing more pupils.
Nah . . . not really believable!
All right, fair enough. How about this one: a school principal who gets stabbed by a parent who’s already been busted several times for trying to kill people.
Come on, get real now.
All right, now I have a good one: in Paris, this girl gets killed after being stabbed in the face with a screwdriver by a guy who has already been arrested thirty-seven times for all sorts of crimes.
Unfortunately, the three scenarios above are true stories.* They—along with thousands of others in the same vein—all happened recently in France. Because in France, if you break the law—should you happen to get caught—most likely your sentence will be more of a vague slap on the wrist than an actual deterring sanction.
Commit a petty crime in France and chances are the only thing you’re in for is a good talking to. Feel like sexually assaulting a child? Fair enough. On average, if you get caught, you’ll spend fifteen months in prison.2 Now you’re feeling cheeky and you want to murder someone. You incorrigible you! Well, knock yourself out! Worse comes to worst: your average prison time for murdering someone in France is 6.2 years.3
The general permissiveness of the French judicial system has several clear consequences:
A legitimate feeling of impunity for most criminals.
A legitimate feeling of exasperation for most law-abiding citizens.
A general sense of the whole system being a disturbingly sick joke.
Commit a crime and you’ll find a battalion of gauchiste souls to find you a million excuses. For them, the real culprits for your crime are well identified: poverty, violence, despair, drugs, education—you name it. Anything but good old individual responsibility (these last two words being nowhere to be found in a French gauchiste dictionary). You, my friend, have very little to do with murdering that person. You, my friend, are the real victim here.
Several decades of slow amplification of this nonsense have given way not only to tragedies by the thousands but also to a complete degradation of the French social fabric.
The French left having championed this culture de l’excuse, it is with mild delight that the cheeky right-wing Frenchie will observe French leftists—young and old—being mugged and beaten up with a sadly routine frequency at the end of public events in France. Think fireworks, Bastille Day celebrations, big game nights, or public concerts are typically joyful and peaceful events in France? Think again. In 2013, when the Paris soccer team, Paris Saint-Germain (PSG), won the French championship, racailles (hoodlums) took to the streets of the Trocadéro area of Paris for several hours and pretty much looted, mugged, and destroyed anything they could find.
La culture de l’excuse gives way to la culture de l’impunité. French leftists and French hoodlums together have managed to deteriorate the quality of life in France. Anything fully open to the public is now always slightly ominous due to the threat of a fight breaking out or the destruction of property. French authorities are starting to realize it: during the last soccer World Cup, the city of Paris chose not to set up a giant screen for Parisians and tourists to enjoy the games in a cheerful atmosphere. At public events, the French struggle to be cheerful these days, and more and more people avoid them for fear of a few ruining the event for the many.
Fun times!!
Useful tip: Watch your pockets and handbags in the Parisian metro.
Sound like a French person: “Ah ça, pour emmerder les gens normaux, y a du monde . . .” (Harassing law-abiding citizens—that they’re good at!)
BREAKFAST AND COFFEE
In many countries, breakfast is viewed as a real meal. At home, proper warm food is prepared, cooking pans are used, etc. People regularly meet up for breakfast: diners, restaurants, and cafés offer a proper breakfast menu and patrons show up to eat it. Sure, people usually just grab something like cereal or toast on your typical weekday, but “breakfast food” is a real category of food that most people can identify immediately (and that some people occasionally have for lunch or dinner).
When it comes to its breakfast culture, France is a completely different ball game. No warm food, no eggs, no sausage, no bacon. Not even on the weekends. Your typical French petit-déjeuner consists of bread with some sort of spread or topping, called tartines. Consumed for breakfast by 75 percent of French people, typically tartines are spread with butter, jam, honey, or Nutella, with a strong cup of coffee alongside. Other common staples include cereal with milk, fruit j
uice, fresh fruit, yogurt, or viennoiseries such as a croissant or pain au chocolat.
Incidentally, while an overwhelming majority of French people know full well that breakfast is an essential meal, almost a fifth of them frequently just skip it.* Not only is your typical French breakfast poor in terms of nutrition, it is also by far the most underwhelming one of the day in terms of appeal. While bread and croissants are typically delicious in France—that is, fresh bread and croissants—few people are running out to the boulangerie before breakfast every morning, especially on weekends. Most therefore settle for bread from the day before or mass-produced supermarket bread, resulting in morning meals that are not exactly haute cuisine. Consequently, most French people approach breakfast with very little excitement. Restaurants don’t offer a breakfast menu, and suggesting to meet a friend or client for breakfast would be considered very odd in France.
The poor nutritional value of the French petit-déjeuner might explain why the French are such ravenous coffee drinkers. Fully 90 percent of the French drink coffee and 85 percent do so every day. It is striking to note that the French drink coffee far more routinely than they do wine, all stereotypes to the contrary.* And overall, espresso is king as far as types of coffee consumed. Coffee is typically served with breakfast, after lunch, and commonly during the many pauses café, or coffee breaks, French workers like to take. One of the surprising characteristics for someone visiting France is the number of vending machines that sell coffee. They’re everywhere—at the office, in gas stations, in metro stations, on the streets, in train stations—and some make a hot brew that’s not as bad as you might think. Add to this the countless cafés found throughout the country and you can rest assured: getting your coffee fix on French soil will never be a problem.
Useful tip: French bakeries typically open quite early. There is a lot of joy to derive from patronizing a bakery at six a.m. Either after a great party or at the start of a long day!
Sound like a French person: “Café? Quatre cafés, s’il vous plaît!” (Coffee? Four coffees, please!)
LA QUENELLE
Traditionally, a quenelle is a somewhat heavy—yet delicious—ball of pounded fish or meat. It’s a rugby-ball-shaped food specialty from Lyon. Lately, however, pronouncing the word quenelle in France will spark controversy.
Not because rich food has suddenly become suspicious in France, but because the word quenelle no longer refers to just a pastry. The word’s new accepted definition has become the foundation of a new cultural, legal, and political controversy. Controversy based on food terminology: welcome to France!
For millions of Frenchies, glisser une quenelle (literally, “shoving a quenelle”) has become an irreverent quirky gesture. The gesture itself, une quenelle, is simple: place one hand over your opposite shoulder, and extend the arm below that shoulder. Perfect execution comes from the command of the movement of sliding/shoving.
Both the gesture and the terms were introduced over a decade ago by French comedian Dieudonné, who used it repeatedly, year after year, in his skits as one of his signature comedic gimmicks.
Mention la quenelle in France and most will immediately associate the term with Dieudonné. He is an unusual character. He rose to fame as part of the most popular comedic duo of the nineties (Élie et Dieudonné). After a while, the two split up and pursued solo careers. Dieudonné’s career tanked brutally in 2003 after a (relatively unfunny) skit on live TV where he mocked an Israeli settler. Shortly after, the media notified him and the general French public that he had crossed a line. Unexpectedly enough, Dieudonné chose not to repent or apologize.
His career nose-dived. He ceased to be invited on TV shows and got publicly demonized and vilified in the press. Some of his rants got more radical: his vocal criticisms of Israel, Zionism, and the Jewish lobby rank between suspicious and unacceptable to a large chunk of the French population, who in turn see Dieudonné as un antisémite—no redemption possible.*
To another fraction of the French population, however, Dieudonné’s positions are viewed as a beacon of genuine freedom of speech in a country that has mostly lost the courage or the will to exercise it. In this category, some say, “Il dit la vérité” (He speaks the truth); others simply argue, “On s’en fiche, tant qu’il est drôle?” (Who cares, as long as he’s funny?).
Over the past few years, Dieudonné has grown to become a very polarizing figure. Some hate him; some love him. Some argue that he’s no longer a comedian; others obviously disagree, as his shows are typically jam-packed, making him undoubtedly one of France’s most popular comedians.*
His detractors fight him tooth and nail, from the French prime minister publicly denouncing him over* and over again to a well-known journalist announcing that Dieudonné’s being executed would fill him with joy,* from countless lawsuits* to tax audits* and more. The harassment strategy at play might be questionable, as it tends to make a case in favor of Dieudonné’s vocal antiestablishment message (i.e., against mainstream media and politicians, all presented as sellouts). However (or consequently), Dieudonné remains prolific on- and off-line. His influence makes his messages gain momentum among a certain French population, while another France considers the whole ordeal with a mix of contempt, fear, and suspicion.
Dieudonné’s “us versus them” rhetoric, presenting the French people as oppressed by the powers that be, made la quenelle spread like wildfire. It was the signe de ralliement, the cheeky “up yours” against the ruling class.
People started taking quirky quenelle pictures with politicians. Mockery and irreverence spread. Police officers, military personnel, nurses, teachers, athletes, correctional officers—everyone was having fun taking photos quenelles.
The crackdown was swift.
La quenelle entered a new phase as mainstream media started to depict it as an anti-Semitic gesture. As the gesture was initiated by Dieudonné, who is critical of Zionism, painting everyone who does a quenelle as an anti-Semite seemed fair to some. A French Jewish lobby stated boldly that the quenelle gesture symbolized sodomizing the victims of the Holocaust. Bit too much? Nah! Overnight, anybody doing a quenelle had officially become an antisémite.
And then there was the crackdown. The government gave orders and several government employees lost their jobs. A twenty-three-year-old electrician got fined* for a photo quenelle with the prime minister. Military personnel were discharged* from the French military; high schoolers were suspended* from school for a week. One soccer star who celebrated a goal with a quenelle had to leave his club.* A few weeks after the start of the crackdown phase, most people stopped doing quenelles. Somehow, the risk of losing one’s job, paired with the threat of being suspected for life of being an anti-Semite, ceased to be worth the fun photo op.
Useful tip: If you understand French, check out funny Frenchmen Julien Cazarre or Augustin Shackelpopoulos.
Sound like a French person: “Dieudonné . . . oulah, il est complètement antisémite, lui!” (Dieudonné, he’s a total anti-Semite, that one!)
LES ANGLO-SAXONS
French people, there is no doubt about it, are comfortable with abstractions.
One of the most essential abstract concepts any foreigner visiting France should grow more accustomed to is that of the Anglo-Saxon.
In the French psyche, les Anglo-Saxons are a species in their own right, a wonderfully compact mass of humans, sharing a language and other qualities. While the core of the notion refers to Great Britain and the United States, French people won’t be shy about adding Canada, Australia, and New Zealand to the group. Now, some givens ought to be understood before one engages in a discussion with a French person. They go as follows:
Who’s always drinking? Les Anglo-Saxons.
Which people is always warmongering? Les Anglo-Saxons.
Who’s undermining the French language? Les Anglo-Saxons.
Who’s really good at busin
ess? Les Anglo-Saxons.
Whose mentality is centered on money? Les Anglo-Saxons.
Who’s got really good universities and research? Les Anglo-Saxons.
Those six premises will help any foreigner converse constructively with French people. Should you originate from an “Anglo-Saxon” nation yourself and therefore be prone to rejecting such simplistic views, be warned: any attempt to do so will lead you to being perceived as the arrogant, dominating, imperialistic prick your sorry Anglo-Saxon self truly is.
The fact that the English mentality might somehow differ from the American mentality is enough of a stretch. If such an argument is brought to the table, the French person typically shifts the blame discussion to one given country. Let’s face it—that means the United States.
It is well-known among the French that the United States is not a diverse country. A liberal from the Bay Area thinks exactly like a Mormon from Salt Lake City, and a first-generation Honduran immigrant in Houston shares the same worldview as an old-money billionaire in Connecticut.
Les Anglo-Saxons are one united bunch, and ultimately they’re out to get some French you-know-what. It is key to realize that pulling out the old Anglo-Saxon card will not make the speaker sound like a conspiracy theorist. Au contraire: those who gripe about Anglo-Saxons pass for insightful observers of the world and of the forces that shape it. The French press specializes in the skillful drop of Anglo-Saxon bombs. There is no doubt that using a complex-sounding term to refer to a nonexistent force outside of France in order to prove a point is textbook French journalism. But as the French put it, no matter how bad the French press is, it’s far better than . . . la presse anglo-saxonne!
Useful tip: Best way to dodge the Anglo-Saxon objectification: when asked where you’re from, prefer a city/region/state.
WTF?!--What the French Page 7
