A French Family Thanksgiving

Friends of ours who are French, but who lived for many years in the United States, invited us over for Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday night. Here's how the cross-cultural menu went.

We started with cucumbers topped with creme fraiche, followed by pate de campagne:


After this the turkey came out, accompanied by chestnut stuffing, mashed potatoes and roasted sweet potatoes (not casseroled, and certainly not with marshmallows, something I don't believe the French even have a word for):


Here's how the whole meal looked, with the turkey already carved (it was served buffet-style because this family has just moved to a new apartment and hasn't yet furnished it, not because it's a particularly French tradition):


There was, of course, bread:


And three types of wine:


Dessert was a pumpkin tart, made with canned pumpkin that an American cousin smuggled over in her suitcase. (You can actually get fresh pumpkins here if you look hard enough, but it's enough of a pain to turn them into pie that even most American cooks prefer to use canned.) Served with champagne.



How was it? Excellent. The turkey in particular was remarkable, smaller but much more flavorful than American turkeys. I think the French treat their turkeys the same way they treat their chickens: with reverence for the breed and a free-range upbringing.

One more difference from the American version of Thanksgiving: we didn't start eating till around 9:30 p.m. It was a workday, after all, and the French never sit down to dinner till well after 8 anyway. By the time we got done, close to 1 a.m., the Metro had closed for the night.

Beginning to Look a Lot Like ... part 2

With no Thanksgiving to intervene, businesses here have been gradually slipping into Christmas mode. So far the decorations are similar to those in America: lots of red and green, evergreens and poinsettias. But no Santa Claus at all, and (so far) nothing overtly religious.

And then there's Open Cafe, marching to their own drummer ...

The Bagels of my Childhood

Continuing my investigation into the European roots of the bagel, I trekked over to East London, where one block of Brick Lane contains the city's few remaining "beigel" bakeries.

This part of London was an immigrant neighborhood, like the Lower East Side of Manhattan, not an area populated by native English Jews. (Now it is a mixture of Bangladeshi immigrants and gentrifiers.) Here the bagels resemble the New York bagels of my childhood: small and very dense and chewy, not like the pretzel-style ones you find in Paris or Krakow or the modern, crusty/sweet New York kind.

They serve the bagels with smoked salmon or with "salt beef," which has the flavor of corned beef but the texture of pastrami. But I also saw a woman order one with nothing but mayonnaise on it. No doubt this comes from the same culinary tradition that created the "chip butty," a sandwich of french fries on buttered bread.

Cream cheese, as far as I can tell, is a wholly American concept.

What a mixed-up world we live in ...

So I went to London this past weekend, went to maybe half a dozen gay pubs and clubs over two nights, and found English beer on sale at exactly one of them.

Kronenbourg, a French beer, was on sale at almost every one.

I have yet to visit a gay bar in France that sells Kronenbourg. Here, they carry mostly Heineken.

Sometimes world trade just doesn't make sense.

Other notes from London:

I hadn't been there in 12 years and was astonished at the changes. And not in a good way. It hardly feels British anymore, and not just because of the beer. The people on the streets, the shops and restaurants, the products for sale, are all sort of generically cosmopolitan/urban. In fact, it felt a lot like New York except for three things: the damp, cutting chill; the architecture, which includes a lot of new construction as in New York but is still generally lower-rise and lower-density; and the joy the English still take in the artful use of their own language.

Paris, for all the changes here over the last decade, still feels distinctly different from New York.

Londoners do still have their IRA-induced paranoia about public trash cans, which are insanely difficult to find in a lot of places. They still queue, for everything except alcoholic drinks. They still have the Thames, and have actually done a nice job with a riverfront walk, which does however resemble New York's Hudson River Park in places. The river seems narrower than it used to, but that may just be my memory playing tricks on me. It still is wider than the Seine.

And of course, they still use pounds sterling, rather than the euro. Though the current financial turmoil may make it more difficult for that to continue. And maybe it's just me, but the new design for pound notes makes them look somehow less impressive than they used to, more like a secondary currency like the Danish krone. How the mighty have fallen.

Cafes: A Dying Breed?

In light of my rave about cafes last month, I thought I'd point you to this article. It seems cafes are dying out across France, a victim of changing eating habits, a decline in leisure time and a recent ban on indoor smoking.

I have no doubt that the article's conclusions are largely true, especially outside Paris and in non-touristed areas. There are still plenty in the areas I spend time in, but those are areas that get an exceptional amount of foot traffic from French and foreign tourists and businesspeople.

Then again, there are still glaciers in Switzerland and Patagonia, too, for the moment.

Le Beaujolais Nouveau est Arrive!

I'm told it isn't what it used to be, but there's still a bit of manufactured hype here about Beaujolais Nouveau, which "arrived" last night. A number of restaurants near my office (which is not in a touristy area) were having special dinners, with decorations vaguely in a harvesty theme -- it struck me as, in a way, a French equivalent to Thanksgiving.

The wine (which interestingly is called "Beaujolais Primeur" more often than "Beaujolais Nouveau") represents a bit of a profit center to the restaurants -- the one we went to was charging 4 euros a glass, which is a bit more than they charge for most of the better-quality wines they serve.

For Beaujolais Nouveau, it wasn't bad, but it's still basically alcoholic grape juice.

And with that, I'm off to London for the weekend, without my laptop, so blogging will resume Monday.

Scallops in the Raw (or Not)

Here's something you won't see in North American food stores:


This is what scallops look like when they're still in the shell.

Why they're not sold this way in the United States I'm not certain, but possibly it's because they're not caught locally (any shellfish still in the shell needs to remain alive until it's sold), or possibly because shucking them before sale allows them to be adulterated and watered down.

Scallops here are much tastier than most of the ones you find in New York. But I've only had them in restaurants -- shucking raw, live ones isn't something I'm quite ready to try yet ...

Chestnuts, part 2

Just in time for fall, the roasted chestnuts I wondered about a few weeks ago have made their appearance on city streets. The sellers all appear to be of Middle East descent, and the ones I approached strongly objected to having their picture taken, which makes you wonder ..

Euro Sports

Watching the French equivalent of ESPN every morning at the gym has given me a look into what European sports are all about. Some of it surprised me.

There is soccer, of course, first and foremost. French television follows not only the French league, but also the German, British, Italian and Spanish leagues; assorted inter-European matches; and even found time to tell us this morning that Egypt had beaten Cameroon for the championship of the African league.

(Oddly, despite its unquestioned high quality, Latin American soccer is rarely mentioned here. United States soccer, of course, is universally considered a joke.)

After soccer, the most popular sport seems to be, of all things, rugby, which apparently has a professional league here, although it's still a good deal more informal than American football.

Third would be a tie between tennis and something called "handball," which isn't the inner-city sport New Yorkers know but rather a team game, played indoors, that's sort of a mash-up of soccer and basketball. Players handle the ball with their hands and try to throw it into the goal, but the goal is a soccer-style net and the players are positioned like they are in soccer.

Of the major American sports, NBA basketball gets almost daily attention here, and more air time than the European basketball league does. In fact, one day last month, the station spent about a minute going through early-season game scores in the NBA before giving 10 seconds to the Phillies' victory in the World Series.

Yuppie Food Stamps

French law requires that businesses above a certain staff size (I'm not sure exactly what the number is, but somewhere near 50) provide their employees with either a cafeteria, or coupons to buy lunch in a restaurant.

Government interfering with private business, you might say, except that this has created a private industry of its own. Several companies compete to supply these coupons to cafeteria-free employers. The competition includes trying to get different restaurants to accept your coupons and not the other guys'. And thus, restaurant doors are festooned with stickers announcing which of all the competing sets of coupons are accepted therein:


At lunch in business areas it is quite common to see people using these. We joke in the U.S. that $20 bills are "yuppie food stamps," but here it's the real thing.

Res Ipsa Loquitur, part 3

I guess I'm going out dancing again in a couple of weeks.

And doesn't his resume sound nicer in French?

What Is "Manana" In French?

Leisurely service is a good thing in restaurants; there is nothing worse than being hustled to finish a good meal quickly (except, maybe, a bad meal).

Elsewhere, not so much.

And while the French tend to operate reasonably efficiently when you're standing in front of them -- walk into a store and you will be waited on promptly -- behind the scenes, it's another story.

You may remember that I needed to call the cable guy when I moved in because the Internet wasn't working. He came in mid-September, fixed a broken wire in the jack, and in passing noted that the set-top box was old and offered to get me a new one. It would be ready in a few weeks and the company would e-mail me directions on where to pick it up.

A "few" in French apparently means seven or eight, as I just got the thing today.

And it's even worse when the government is involved. I applied for my work visa in June, came here to live full-time in August and was told just yesterday that the visa is now ready for me to pick up -- at the French consulate in New York.

At least it will make a nice souvenir.

Restaurant Seating Etiquette

One of the most annoying things about restaurants in New York is that, by and large, they will not seat you unless your entire party has arrived -- even if you have a reservation.

I haven't seen that happen even once here in Paris. In fact, I've been stumped on more than one occasion, waiting outside for my dining companions to arrive when in fact they were already seated way in the back where I couldn't see them. (Embarrassingly, this even happened to me at lunch with a high official in my company. My only excuse was that he was way in the back, in a room I didn't even know existed.)

But a dinner the other day showed me for the first time why New York restaurants do this. And I have to say, I've got a bit more sympathy for them now.

It happened at a well-known steak-frites place, Relais de Venise. Though it's a one-trick pony -- the only dishes available are a lettuce-and-walnut salad, steak, frites and dessert -- it's quite a popular place. It opens at 7 and by 7:05 all the tables are full. And they turn them fast; even though they serve a three-course meal you are out of there in under an hour. (Very un-French, that.)

I got there at 7 and asked for a table for 2. The friend who was meeting me there hadn't arrived yet but I figured he'd be along in a few minutes, so I went ahead and ordered a bottle of wine and told them how we wanted our steak.

As time passed and my friend had still failed to show up, the manager kept shooting me dirty looks, and it soon hit me that even though I had ordered (the table was earning money already, not simply sitting empty), the longer it took for him to arrive, the longer we'd be sitting at the table and the longer it would be before they could give that table to someone else.

Or so I thought, anyway. He arrived at 7:20 and we were still out of there at 8:05.

Armistice Day

Ninety years ago today, at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, World War I ended.

In the United States it's marked by the half-hearted holiday Veterans Day, but here, it's a major holiday. Most stores and businesses are closed, the Metro is running on a holiday schedule and the streets are quiet.

It's more like Memorial Day than Veterans Day, and not just in the degree of holiday-taking. Because while people are treating it as a real holiday, there's little in the way of commemoration of the war.

I went to the Arc de Triomphe, site of France's Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, but saw very little out of the ordinary. There were flowers and wreaths on the tomb. There were people there, but not many more than on an average weekend day. There was silence. There were no public officials -- the president usually attends the ceremony here, but this year he elected to do it at the Verdun battlefield.

I was in London 20 years ago on Armistice Day and was struck by how many people were wearing red poppies on their lapel in commemoration of the Flanders battlefields, but I saw only a handful of those today. I'm not sure whether the tradition is dying out or whether it's mainly a British tradition -- the French army fought mainly to the south and east of the British, in areas that might not have had a huge poppy population.

World War I arguably was responsible for much of the tragedy of the 20th century: it directly led to the establishment of Communism in Russia and to Nazism in Germany (and thereby to World War II and the Cold War). It deserves to be remembered.

In a few places in northern France, the battlefields are preserved as monuments. I visited them earlier this fall. Here is a part of the Somme battlefield, where 19,000 British soldiers died in just one day of fighting, with trenches and shell holes still visible. The clump of people to the left of center is at the first British line; the other group, by the trees to the right, are at the German front line:


At Vimy Ridge, sheep mow the grass because unexploded shells in the mud make it too dangerous for humans to enter:



And finally, the Canadian war memorial at Vimy, overlooking the coal belt of northern France that remained in German hands throughout the war:



Happy Armistice Day, everyone.

A random act of beauty

(from Chartres Cathedral)

Obamamania continues

Seen in my neighborhood tonight (sorry, I wasn't carrying my camera at the time), outside a pizza shop, a sign reading:

"Pizza au Moment Obama"

It went on to explain that an Obama-moment pizza consisted of bacon and pineapple chutney.

Why they think that's an Obama pizza I have no idea, unless maybe it's the Hawaiian connection.

Still, as off-the-wall as it is, nice to see the French welcoming our new leader ...

Kebab Diplomacy

The Turks and Kurds have been at war for decades, but the French think they know how to make peace between them:

It's beginning to look a lot like ...

Christmas decorations went up on my local department store a couple of days ago:


It seems a bit early by American standards, but then they don't have Thanksgiving as an intervening milestone ...

More from the French press

Seen on newsstands this morning ...

Liberation (a leftist daily) -- "An American Dream"


Le Canard Enchaine (an alternative weekly): "America isn't afraid of Black anymore!"


Le Figaro (conservative daily): "What Obama is going to do"
Le Monde (well-known liberal daily): "America chose Barack Obama" (how boring)

And my favorite, from Les Echos (a business daily): "Barack Obama president, America in a state of grace"

Reaction in the French press

Headlines on the French newspaper Web sites:

"The United States has surmounted the demons of the past" -- Le Monde

"The victory of Barack Obama brings the dream of change" -- Le Figaro

"The new face of America" -- France Soir, over a picture of Obama

Extra, Extra, Read All About It

This newspaper -- the first I know of to report the news here -- is being distributed on the streets of Paris as I write this (2:30 p.m. Wednesday):

The French React to the News

A coworker reports that when she got in a cab to come into the office at 6 a.m., the driver, an African immigrant, had Obama's victory speech playing on the radio. He was clearly very excited.

Later, we went to a breakfast at a posh downtown hotel where about 200 French businesspeople and journalists heard the U.S. ambassador announce that Obama had won. The ambassador, who I'm told is a relative of Laura Bush, went on at some length in French about America's history of democracy and our centuries-old alliance with France, but said very little specifically about Obama. It wasn't clear whether this was due to diplomatic protocol or something else.

Waking up to the news

No reaction in Paris so far that I can see; of course at 6 a.m. the few people on the Metro are mainly asleep.

French TV showed scenes from an Obama party at the Trocadero (across the river from the Eiffel Tower, but unfortunately nowhere near my home or office), but it was hard to tell how big or lively it was, or whether the people there were French or just Americans.

Still, I'm sure there will be a stir when people get the news, so stay tuned.

More from French TV

French TV is now (5:25a) broadcasting McCain's concession live:

Obama elu

It's 5:15a here (11:15p on the East Coast) and French television has just called the election:

Calm Before the Storm

There's no question that Europe, or a large part of it, is very interested in the U.S. election. But it's not the overwhelming subject of attention here that it is, I'm told, in the United States at this minute.

Riding home on the Metro this evening, I saw one person carefully reading Le Monde's coverage of the election, including stories headlined "The Ohio Heartland: An America in Agreement with the Values of McCain" and "The Success of Obama Has Relaunched the Debate About Affirmative Action".

Everyone else, though, was either paging through the French analogue to People magazine, talking on their cellphones or reading a book. In other words, just a normal evening on the subway. And in my neighborhood, where everyone's doing what they otherwise would on a warmish, clear night -- eating, drinking, and waiting in line for the show at a local comedy club.

(Incidentally, yes, the entire Paris Metro has cellphone coverage. There has been intense debate about installing it in New York, with many fearing an onslaught of obnoxious loud yakkers. In Paris that isn't a problem, because people talk very quietly when on their phones -- and anywhere else in public, for that matter. But I suppose that isn't a realistic thing to expect in New York.)

Assuming the polls are somewhere close to accurate, a definitive call on the presidential race should be possible somewhere around 4 or 5 a.m. Paris time. This will gazump the newspapers but happen in plenty of time for the morning TV or radio shows. So I'll let you know tomorrow what happened.

Definitely Not a North American Autumn

The leaves are starting to fall off the trees without ever really having peaked:

Paris nightlife, part 4

Lots of fun last night at a little basement dance bar called CUD (short for "Classics Up and Down," which is on the sign in English).

I'd call it Paris's equivalent of Mr. Black -- a tiny basement bar (smaller even than the original Mr. Black; I haven't been to the new one), seemingly a former wine cellar or something with arched brick ceilings, capacity probably just over 100 people.

It gets going late. My first time there, two weeks ago, Joey and I walked in at 12:30 to find it pretty much empty. Last night I arrived with some British guys I had met at RAIDD at 1:15, which turned out to be just right.

Fun music, basically mainstream circuit music but with both European trance and electro overtones. Young, cute, flirty crowd, mainly French it seemed, and including quite a few faces I recognized from earlier that night at RAIDD. No cover, free coatcheck and a round of drinks for four people cost me just 24 euros, or about $7.50 a drink, including tip.

And it's five minutes' walk from my house.

Love it.

World Class Chickens

No, this blog isn't going to get into sensitive political issues like France's military prowess or lack thereof. But when it comes to cooking and eating poultry, this country is definitely in a class of its own.

Any decent butcher offers not just chicken, but a wide selection of designer chickens, labeled by breed and sometimes by place of origin. In fact, some types of chickens even take an A.O.C. designation, like fine wines or cheese.

(A.O.C., "appellation d'origine controlee," certifies that a product comes from a certain region and was made to certain standards. For example, A.O.C. Champagne is wine made from exactly three types of grapes that were grown in a specified region just east of Paris, using a particular method of fermentation. These laws are quite strict, which is why the French go ballistic when certain American wine companies label random California bubbly as "champagne.")

As a certificate of authenticity, the butchers will leave identifying body parts -- legs, heads, feathers -- on the chickens to prove that they are what they say they are. Notice, e.g., the black knees on the chicken closest to the camera in this photo:


I've wanted to roast one of these and see what it's like, but I don't trust my oven's temperature control enough to entrust one of these expensive birds to it. But today, my butcher was selling just the legs from a "poulet fermier," so I bought some.

They are the best chicken I've ever had: leaner, darker and more flavorful than even a U.S. free range or organic chicken. The closest I've ever come to this in the U.S. was actually guinea hen, but these are more tender and easier to cook. Although not really French, this recipe worked perfectly with them.

The whole thing reminds me of the current fuss in the United States about heirloom tomatoes. Here, there are just tomatoes, fresh from Italy or southern France in season, but at this time of year grown in Holland or Belgium in hothouses (the same kind you can get at an exorbitant price in U.S. grocery stores). But the chickens ... wow. Someone should import a few eggs and start growing them in America.

Halloween, part 2

So in the gayest part of Paris, on what is the gayest holiday in the American calendar, I saw ... one guy in face paint (possibly straight) walking around on the street, and one guy in a Venetian mask and eye shadow (definitely gay) in RAIDD.

Other than that, it was just an ordinary Friday night out; RAIDD was, if anything, a bit less crowded than usual, though that may have had something to do with the weather.

Mix had posters up advertising their weekly Friday night gay party, this week with Chris Cox, but they didn't bill it as specifically Halloweeny.

So that makes two U.S. holidays I've missed, without a trace. And we haven't had any French holidays to compensate yet. Today is All Saints' Day, which is technically a holiday, but everything in my neighborhood (except, alas, the haircutter) seems to be open. And then there's Armistice Day on Nov. 11, which falls on a Tuesday but is celebrated then because of the whole 11th-hour-11th-day-11th-month thing.