Letter From Paris
Paris Kiosque - October 1998 - Volume 5, Number 10
Copyright (c) 1998 Harriet Welty-Rochefort - Used with permission.
First of all, dear readers, an apology. Somehow the final "e" on
"rentrée" was dropped in my last column, making it "rentré" which is as
incorrect as spelling school "schoo" if you see what I mean. I have had
corrections from readers who were shocked by the misspelling. So here for
the record, let it be said that rentrée is spelled RENTRÉE (accent aigu on
first e).
Which brings me to a little comment about spelling in general. How can you
tell if a person is uneducated in France? One of the signs is if the
person misspells words - or has to look up the proper spelling. Since (in
spite of my incorrect spelling of rentrée) I'm not in general a very good
speller, I have to hide everytime I look up a word in this country! We
don't seem to have that problem in the States where misspelling is rampant,
especially on email. But I digress.
What I really want to talk about is not spelling, but dinner parties. A
specific dinner party. A dinner party I had chez moi this week with my
French in-laws. It's worth relating because all you good people out there
can then compare it with the dinner parties you have with your
(non-French) in-laws.
First of all, as most of you know by now, I've been in France since 1971
and married to a Frenchman since 1973 so you would think that by now dinner
parties would no longer be traumatizing experiences.
Right and Wrong.
Right, because they are not traumatizing. They are just incredibly
time-consuming.
Wrong, because everytime someone says the word "dinner party" to me, I
stiffen and blanch, especially if said party will be had at my house.
This particular party was all my fault. Talking to my brother-in-law on
the phone one day, in a moment of careless generosity, I exclaimed: "We
haven't seen each other for so long. You really must come over here for
dinner."
Did I really say that? I asked myself as I hung up and started thinking
about what I was going to serve nine people for dinner.
You have to realize that in France, even with your own in-laws, you don't
just improvise. And you don't take people literally when they say "don't
go to any trouble, just give us ham and noodles". My foot!!
My dear French husband took me aside shortly after I had issued the dread
invitation.
"I've known you for years," he said, "and I know exactly what you'll do if
you don't listen to what I'm going to say. You're going to panic and
change your menu three times and end up making something an hour before
they come. And it will be a disaster."
I marvelled at how he could read my mind.
"So," he continued, "let me tell you this. You are going to make a tamale
pie as we agreed and
you are not going to change your mind. Ok??"
Why tamale pie, you may ask? This is certainly not a French dish and not
one many Americans know either! It is a recipe given to us by an American
friend and has the distinct advantage of feeding great quantities of
people, somewhat like chili, except I have made chili too many times and
it's getting boring.
I could have made something French like gigot, haricots verts or sauté de
veau but I preferred to stick with something a little exotic. After all,
I'm American so I can get away with weird dishes no one has ever heard of=2E
My sister-in-law had called the day before to offer to bring dessert.
"I'll bring a crumble aux quetsches (dark purple prunes which are in season
now)," she said brightly, "and Maman will bring a crême caramel."
It's a terrible thing to say, but a dark little thought popped into my head
at this point. Were they afraid I was going to serve them brownies again?
Or were they just being nice and trying to relieve me of too much trouble?
It was obviously the latter, and I was immediately ashamed of my initial
reaction. Paranoid, me? Never! I thanked my sister-in-law for the offer
but insisted that my 83-year-old mother-in-law be let off the hook
(actually, in this case, I was just being polite - I salivate at the very
mention of her crême caramel).
Now, you will say: what's the problem-the menu's decided on, the
sister-in-law is bringing the dessert, the meal is done. But it was NOT
done. A first course had to be decided upon, the tamale pie had to be
made, the salad bought and washed (and in this family that is no laughing
matter), the vinaigrette made, the cheese bought, the wine brought out.
The table had to be set. This may seem like a minor point but you mustn't
forget that most Parisian apartments aren't big enough to have separate
dining rooms so for nine people I have to open up my table which then fills
half the room!
Came the day: I consulted my list for the tamale pie and made a beeline
for the store. There, I bought the meat and cheese and assorted other
victuals. For the vegetables, I went to the next door primeurs, knowing
that I would get the best and that when I specified "avocados for tonight"
the man would choose ones which were perfect, not too ripe, not too hard.
I rushed home with all this and started preparing the food. It took me, I
kid you not, the rest of the day! But that's what happens when you have a
French family coming to dinner and a husband who inspects the lettuce. I
washed the leaves about five times and then put in a large pile all the
reject leaves, thinking that when he got home, he might pick one reject
that actually could go into the salad. He didn't.
At 7 though I rushed out for baguettes. One thing I love about France is
there are little rules or "tips" which come in very handy. For example, it
is said that you count three people to a baguette. Therefore, for nine, I
bought exactly three baguettes. Then, thinking that I might have some
hungry people, I sent my son down for another half a baguette. And guess
what? That half was the only remaining bread, proving that the 3 to a
baguette calculation must be based on something like average consumption!
At 8:30, my sister-in-law, brother-in-law, two nieces, and my mother-in-law
arrived. My mother-in-law had disregarded my plea for her not to go to any
trouble and brought her delicious crême caramel. My sister-in-law followed
her in with her dessert. And my brother-in-law brought his offering, a
bottle of chilled champagne.
By ten, we made it to the table where we consumed: an hors d'oeuvre (I had
finally decided on a grapefruit-avocado salad and thinking it might not be
enough, added on paté and saucisson. We devastated the first
course-nothing was left). This was followed by the tamale pie and a Romaine
salad, cheese (cantal, vieux Pané and a Roquefort), and the two desserts.
I can report that my diminutive 83-year-old mother-in-law ate and drank
every single thing with pleasure (but since she's French, she ate a little
bit of every single thing).
I tried to think of what this evening would have been like if I had heeded
the advice to "not go to any trouble" and actually served something like
ham and noodles or worse, hamburgers. It is just unthinkable! Yes,
French meals are time consuming but fun. Even a curmudgeon like me
didn't grumble as I cleaned up the monumental mess in my teeny kitchen at
1 a.m.
The most important thing to tell you, though, about this and other French
dinner parties is that I weighed myself the next morning and I had LOST
weight. Ah, the French paradox (maybe it's all the running around you do
just to get the meal on the table....) Whatever, vive la France!
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 book - French Toast - is a lighthearted look at
French manners and mores.
Writes Leslie Caron: French Toast includes the most delightful barbs at France's
subtle but deep-rooted codes of behaviour...I read the book on the EuroStar between
Paris and London and wished the train had not reached its top speed of 300 kph!
Reviewed in the Los Angeles Times on January 2, 1998, French Toast
will be published in the U.S. by St. Martin's Press in January and can
now be pre-ordered at local bookstores.
Please specify that it is an upcoming
book. If needed for ordering, its ISBN number is 0 312 19978 3.
You may contact Harriet directly at
101676.467@compuserve.com.
Your Hotel In Paris