Letter From Paris

By Harriet Welty-Rochefort

Paris Kiosque - April 1996 - Volume 3, Number 4
Copyright (c) 1996 Harriet Welty-Rochefort - Used with permission.

---

The scene: an expressway near Paris one Sunday noon. My French husband, our two Franco-American sons and I were on our way back to Paris after a lovely week-end at my in-laws' house which is situated in a small village in a valley not far from Chartres. Since we wanted to avoid the Sunday evening traffic at all costs, we reluctantly sacrificed our Sunday lunch, knowing that since the rest of France would be at the table, we'd have the road to ourselves and could get to Paris in no time at all.

We had only ignored one important element: the time bombs ticking away in our sons' bellies. "McDonald's!", crowed the eldest (alias The Botomless Pit), as he spied the familiar Arch rising out of the flat landscape. I stole a sideways look at my French husband, and laughed to myself, knowing that he would overcome his Gallic reservations about fast food - if only to quell what was beginning to resemble a back seat rebellion.

A roadside McDo à la française. Image copyright (c) 1996 Richard Erickson.

As we drove in, I was amazed to see dozens of families, mostly young, waiting patiently in line to place their orders. Children chatting in high-pitched French played happily outside under the benevolent smile of a lifesize Ronald McDonald. I blinked my eyes. Is this France, country of the camembert, Bordeaux, and leisurely meals, I asked myself? Is this what other people are doing while my French mother-in-law and sister-in-law chop and grate, baste and sizzle and proudly proffer us THE SUNDAY MEAL?

And so it was, that that spring Sunday, while one part of my French family took two hours to complete their paté and their coq au vin and their haricots verts and their salade and their cheese plate and their dessert (all washed down with Bordeaux), the other part spent exactly 15 minutes bolting down McDo's and great quantities of Coke.

The kids loved their outing. They may have even entertained the idea that THIS could be Sunday lunch from now on.

No way. As dinner time rolled around, my French husband looked me straight in the eye and popped the question: "OK, now how about a REAL meal!".

---

Harriet Welty Rochefort, a bona fide Midwesterner from Iowa, visited Paris for the first time while in college. She became so completely enamored of France that she stayed - and has been there ever since. Married to a Frenchman and the mother of two Franco-American boys, Harriet Welty-Rochefort writes on business, lifestyle and travel for major U.S. publications. Her forthcoming book - French Toast - is a lighthearted look at French manners and mores.