Letter From Paris
Paris Kiosque - June 2002 - Volume 9, Number 6
Copyright (c) 2002 Harriet Welty-Rochefort - Used with permission.
The song is "April in Paris" but from what I can see, May is really the
month for romance - simply because the weather is better! For both me, and France, this last
month of May had more to it than usual.
I pen this as I sit at a table on the terrace of a café facing the Trinité
church just down the street from the Galeries Lafayette. It's one of those
beautiful spring days when it gets hot like summer and the Parisians slip
into their summer mode - the women in their sexy slingback high heels, the
men in light summer suits. As I observe their dress and marvel at how slim
they all are, I glance up up up to the top of the cathedral to the statues
of saints, arresting cut outs against a cobalt sky. A white plane briefly
makes an appearance; in the blink of an eye, it's gone.
Sipping my café crème in its porcelain cup, I think about the remark of a
young American woman who told me that during her stay in France, one of the
things she most missed was coffee in a paper cup, coffee she could take with
her wherever she was going.
Well, I must confess that I don't! I love the café ritual too much. For
me, there's nothing more relaxing than taking the time to sit down at a
table, assemble my affairs (pen, pencil, and generally a newspaper or
magazine), make room for my drink, and then sit back and watch the world go
by. If I'm with a friend, the time goes too quickly before we have to
part. If I'm alone, I'm not lonely. And I'm never rushed or bored. There
are all those people to watch - businessmen on a break, young couples gazing
into each other's eyes (or squabbling gently), older folks exchanging the
gossip of the day. And things to look at - I'd never in my life entered the
Trinité church - but I did that day after having appraised it from my café
perch.
It's wonderful to live in a place for three decades and still have
surprises.
May also brought a political surprise in the form of Fascist leader
Jean-Marie Le Pen who totally unexpectedly gained the second spot in the
first round of the French Presidential elections in April and was defeated
in the final round May 6.
Most everyone was flabbergasted and shocked. However, when you consider
that one out of five Frenchmen cast his or her vote for Le Pen, it's obvious
that there were at least a few happy campers.
Before surmising that the French are Fascist - which, I hear, is what many
in the U.S. did conclude after the extensive news coverage on the event -
it's important to note two things: the first is that although there are
certainly Fascist, neo-Nazi and anti-Semitic types among those who voted for
Le Pen, there were also a good number of disenchanted from the Left.
The second is that in France there are two rounds of voting in a
Presidential election. The first round is seen as a way of "sending a
message" to the candidate you'll vote for in the second round. Many on the
Left who firmly intended to vote for Jospin in the final round purposely
voted for other candidates (or didn't vote at all) to express their
discontent. With the vote of the left spread out among several small-party
candidates, Jospin simply didn't get the score he needed for the first
round.
And - to everyone's surprise - Le Pen did.
He barely had a program but here's what he promised:
He promised the French that he'd kick out the immigrants and that they, the
French, would get the jobs.
He promised the French an end to crime and insecurity (read: kicking out
the immigrants who are responsible for both).
He promised an end to double nationality (hey, I'd get kicked out of here in
a half a second).
And he promised closing France's borders and re-instating the French franc.
In short, he promised a return to the Golden Past.
Of course no such Golden Past exists. As far as immigration is concerned,
France has traditionally been a "terre d'accueil" with waves of Spanish,
Portuguese, Italians and Armenians to name but a few. And although one
wouldn't imagine it from watching the news, many "beurs", second generation
Algerians and Moroccans, have also peacefully integrated into French life.
As far as Europe is concerned, the French are entrenched in it and there's
no going back. Crime? According to some statistics, it's no worse - what
is worse are the small and highly visible daily acts of incivility which are
on the rise.
Le Pen's promises struck a chord with those Frenchmen worried about crime,
Europe, immigration and unemployment.
After the shocking result, the French did what they usually do in these
cases: they took to the streets. And Socialist leaders found themselves in
the unenviable but necessary position of instructing their troops to vote
for the incumbent President Jacques Chirac whose person and policies they
despise.
With 82 per cent, Chirac's victory was a clear "non" to Le Pen and a
resounding mandate in favor of the French Republic.
Now he's got a big task in front of him: reconciling all those discontented
out there. There are plenty of them.
For the moment at least Chirac seems to have registered the profound
discontent and the need for some clear thinking and change. He appointed a
non-Enarque (the elite school that turns out almost all high political
figures in France who are despised for their cold technical bureaucratic
methods) from the provinces (and not Paris) as his Prime Minister. He named
the first woman ever to the prestigious post of Minister of Defense. He
named a second-generation Algerian to an important ministry, the first
"beur" to be included in a cabinet. He created a Ministry of Security.
Where all this will go no one knows. Legislative elections in June will
determine whether Chirac can continue to govern with the right or whether he
will have to once again "cohabit" with a leftist-dominated Parliament.
Whatever way it goes, the job won't be easy. Here's hoping that the specter
of a Le Pen out there will keep the French President on his toes.
Elections were one thing. A family wedding - much more pleasant - was
another.
Did the French invent weddings? Is it because of the ambient romance in
this country that they seem so special? Or is it because the French have
such style that they manage to pull celebratory occasions off so
beautifully?
My husband's niece, Sophie, married on May 3. Since her parents love
nothing more than a good party, we knew we were in for a treat. Sophie's
mother, Martine, is a municipal councilor in the small (population 300)
village of Bréchamps where the Rochefort family has its "maison de
campagne". Legally, a municipal councilor can't perform a wedding ceremony
but since the Mayor has throat cancer and can hardly talk, he allowed
Martine to preside over the official ceremonies, reading the young couple
the civil code outlining their duties and obligations to each other. At the
end, she took advantage of the privilege to add: "Charles, we are delighted
to welcome you into our family" - something the Mayor certainly couldn't
have said!
The garden party which took place at the country house after the ceremony
was just a short walk from the Mairie and was attended by the locals who had
known the family ever since Sophie's grandfather, Henri, had bought the
house and came to live there during the War. Among the villagers were the
grocer and café-owner and his wife, the mason and the plumber - all people I
hardly recognized in their best "Sunday" clothes!
A civil ceremony and a garden party - theoretically one could have stopped
there. When my husband and I married in France in 1973, we had the civil
ceremony at the Mairie of the fifth arrondissement where we lived and a
luncheon with our families at the thirteenth century Coupe Chou. And that
was the end of it.
But this was just the beginning. The next day the religious ceremony took
place at the austere cathedral of Nogent-le-Roi, the next "big" town next to
the village. Sophie was a radiant bride in a gorgeously simple and stylish
white bridal gown with veil and chignon held together by white lilies of the
valley.
The three things I remember best about the ceremony: the total joy
radiating from the newlyweds, a portable phone going off (it turned out
that the offending instrument belonged to....the father of the bride), and
a curious remark by the handsome young priest, Don André, who said that what
counted in marriage were the marks of love in everyday life. Illustration:
a man buys a wife a washing machine and everytime she turns it on and the
wash goes round and round, it sings "Je t'aime". Now I confess I never
thought of that before but I can assure you that if my husband buys me a
brand-new electrical appliance one of these days, I certainly will!
Out of the church and into the cars to drive 40 kilometers to the beautiful
thirteenth century Chateau de Villiers-le-Mahieu, a four-star hotel with
restaurant, for the reception and sit-down dinner and dance. After the
reception, all 200 of us filed into the well-appointed dining room for the
following repast:
Chartreuse de Saint-Jacques, langoustines et huitres, crème de tourteau
***
Noisettes d'agneau rôties, just de baies roses
Gratin dauphinois, tomates provençales
et petit ragoût de champignons
***
Salade de saison
****
Plateau de fromages
****
Buffet de desserts
****
Café
We mustn't forget the wines:
Chablis Philippe Testut 2000
Bordeaux Domaine de la Fontanille 1998
Champagne Henri Maillard
It sounds like a lot, but in France the portions are small. For those
watching their kilos or pounds, the dessert course was buffet-style so you
could easily abstain. I can guarantee you I did not, partaking of a little
taste of some of the 10 or so delicious desserts presented.
A waltz started off the dancing, then the more up-to-date music began,
bringing everyone out on the floor, old and young, couples and singles.
My 87-year-old mother-in-law, beautifully dressed in pale green with a
sequined neckline, sat on the sides, taking it all in. Don't think she was
lonely. There was hardly a minute she wasn't engaged in conversation. Did
the noise or the late hour (it was approaching 3 a.m.) bother her? Au
contraire - we had the hardest time in the world suggesting that it just
MIGHT be time to think about heading toward home.
We did, though, in time to catch just enough sleep to function at the next
day's festivities, yet ANOTHER garden party, complete with all kinds of
charcuterie and quiche and salades and tartes and gateaux. We all sat
outside in the garden wishing it were warmer and drinking more and more wine
to take off the chill.
I couldn't help contrasting this to another Paris May wedding we attended.
After a lovely wedding night party on a peniche going down the Seine, my
friend, the American mother of the bridegroom, told me she wasn't doing
lunch or dinner the next day for her visiting American family and friends.
Instead, she said, she told them to come to her apartment in the late
afternoon and to bring what they wanted to eat. When I related this to my
French sister-in-law, she almost died of shock. I explained that my friend
probably figured that her family wouldn't be hungry - but that's something
my French sister-in-law definitely cannot relate to! That's just a minor
cultural difference regarding food, though. Both weddings, the one in the
country at the ancient cathedral and the thirteenth century chateau and the
one in Paris at the City Hall and on the peniche plying the Seine while we
wined and dined and made merry into the wee hours of the morning - were
parties none of the lucky guests will ever forget.
And so it goes in the month of May. I'll never forget the Le Pen scare.
And I'll never forget the two lovely oh so French weddings.
Of these three events in the merry month of May, I guess you can imagine the
one I prefer to forget.....
Harriet Welty-Rochefort, is the author of
French Toast: An American in Paris
Celebrates the Maddening Mysteries of the French and
French Fried: The Culinary Capers of an American in
Paris.
Both are published by St. Martin's Press.
For more of Harriet's prose on Paris, check out her
Paris Diary.
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
harriet.welty@hwelty.com.
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.
