Letter From Paris
Paris Kiosque - April 2001 - Volume 8, Number 4
Copyright (c) 2001 Harriet Welty-Rochefort - Used with permission.
OF FRENCH GROCERY STORES, THE 35 HOUR WORK WEEK, AND BAGGING MACHINES
Every time I go grocery shopping in Paris, I dream of American grocery
stores with their wide aisles where no one is pushing and shoving and
running you down in a space made for Lilliputians. Some days I think that if
one more person jostles me or nudges me with a cart, I'll go stark raving
mad. I can just see the headlines: AMERICAN GOES ON RAMPAGE IN FRENCH
SUPERMARKET.
But, fortunately, that won't happen because just when I'm getting that
familiar feeling of frustration, I am struck by a simple realization that
keeps me going: I know that if I were shopping in a calm, air-conditioned,
well-arranged and well-stocked American store, it would indeed be wonderful
- but the products wouldn't be nearly the same.
As I shopped in my little épicerie downstairs, I jotted down some of them:
rillettes de canard, boudin blanc, pâté de campagne, terrine de lapin, even
a bloc de foie gras! Chèvres, camemberts, roqueforts, livarots,
Pont-l'Evèques, Reblochons, Bleus d'Auvergne and Bleus de Bresse vie with
each other on the cheese counter. Mustard comes in all varieties - Dijon
(which we do get in the States) as well as old style mustard, mustard with
herbs from Provence, mustard made with vinegar and champagne, mustard à la
noix... and those are but a few.
If I'm feeling lazy and don't want to cook, I can buy regional specialties I
just have to heat up: 4 petits tripoux d'Auvergne avec sauce au vin blanc,
poulet basquaise au piment d'Espelette, potée Vendéene, aubergines frites à
la provencale. Sweet tooth? How about some REAL chocolate with 70
percent cocoa and cocoa butter. It's tantalizingly there on the counter in
front of me right across from the the "véritable petit beurre" a simple,
traditional rectangular cookie all French children have at some point in
their life eaten, carefully biting off each of its four edges before
heading into the center.
Other "French grocery stores things" I love: crème de marrons de l'Ardèche
(sweetened chestnut purée ) - which my grocer told me American tourists come
in droves to buy to take back home. Idem for ...foie de morue, a cod liver
spread you put on warm toast and sprinkle a lemon over. Hey, even the baby
food sounds better - how about giving your wee one a "parmentière de colin
d'Alaska" (mixed up fish and potatoes) or a "jardinière veau (veal and
vegetables).
In spite of a bump here and there as I amble around with my caddy, I
realize that being able to procure these delicacies at your local grocery
store on a daily basis is a true privilege and joy. It's only when I hit
the cash register that I tend to fantasize about the American supermarket
once again.
Why? Because there's NO ONE TO BAG THE ALL THIS GOOD STUFF. So there I am
frantically, frenetically, crazily shoving my wares into flimsy plastic bags
while a long line of impatient people forms. They're all giving me these
looks which say "why don't you go to Grocery Packing Remedial School and
come back another day?"
If only I could.
Times are changing though. Now many French grocery stores have ingenious
bagging machines that enable the cashier to ring up the item and place it in
a bag until it's full. At this point he or she pushes a button, which gets
the bag going on its way to you, the customer. All you have to do is pick
it up! No more snarls and stares! This is good for the customer - and
it's especially good for the owner of the store. The machine replaces all
those human beings, those part-time workers! In France, this is vital since
social charges for all employees, including part-time workers, are so high.
Meanwhile, unemployment hovers at around 9 percent and the French sneer at
the Americans who hire people part-time and fire them just as fast. No job
security, they say!
The Socialist government has put into place the thirty-five-hour work week,
which is supposed to create jobs, but since the charges are so high, clever
stores find machines to replace workers. I'm not an economist, and my
political sympathies tend more to the left than the right, but it seems to
me there's something missing in this picture. The fact of the matter, and
forgive me if I sound like your local curmudgeon, is that you can probably
count on the fingers of one hand the number of government ministers who have
actually ever worked in a grocery store or any other shop. This is as true
of the left as it is of the right. How can these decision makers possibly be
expected to know anything about the economy when they've all been
professors, lawyers, or professional politicians their whole lives? Sorry
for the rant, but I think about this every time I see a bagging machine.
So where would I rather shop, in an American supermarket or a French one? I
think I'd opt for a compromise: the wide, wide aisles and the general
cleanliness of most U.S. grocery stores (is that because there are so many
part-time workers cleaning up? ) and the human baggers (part-time workers
again). Oh, yes, and those friendly branch banks you find in some U.S.
grocery stores. From the French store, I'd take the typically French
products such as boudin, (blood sausage), and the right-sized full-fat
yogurt and the friendly butcher at the meat counter at Franprix, a really
sympathique guy who tells you how to prepare whatever you're buying from
him, and the fromage counter at Monoprix which, for a store like this, has
an astounding variety of delicious cheese.
En somme, a bit of both, but I'd especially root for the French market,
whether it's the lively rue Mouffetard or the upscale Marché des Sablons.
Something for everyone, I say. May this diversity not be killed by
globalization. The day I no longer find my four-ounce yogurt with fat, and
cheese that is runny and smelly, I'm out of here!
Harriet Welty-Rochefort, is the author of
French Toast: An American in Paris
Celebrates the Maddening Mysteries of the French, published by St. Martin's
Press in 1999.
The Paris Pages April Letter From Paris includes excerpts from her latest
book, French Fried: The Culinary Capers of an American in Paris, hot off the
press from St. Martin's Press (March 2001). Commenting on it, Booklist
says: "Harriet Welty Rochefort grew up in Iowa, but she has lived in France
for the last thirty years. In French Fried, her second volume recounting
the vicissitudes of daily life among the French, she brings her
well-developed sense of humor to bear on topics such as the French waiter in
all his professional hauteur, the Gallic passion for organ meats, and the
new culture of the hypermarket...Rochefort's recounting of wine-tastings
with Alain Ducasse's sommelier puts good wine service in sound perspective."
For The Paris Voice (April 2001), "Harriet Welty Rochefort is flavor of the
month with "French Fried," a literary wink at the culinary discrepancies
between Gallic gastronomy and stateside munching.
For more information on Harriet's books, click on
www.hwelty.com.
If you've had some funny, startling, satisfying, or dismaying
food experiences in France you'd like to share,
you may contact Harriet directly at
hwelty@club-internet.fr.
Editor's Note:
Dear Readers, while our writers are always
delighted to hear and to receive comments, both about their columns in the The Paris Kiosque,
as well as your experiences in Paris,
they are unable to answer any requests
for travel information.
Thank you for your understanding.
