‘Is there a word for the French fascination with eating well’ — I found myself asking ChatGPT (fast becoming my AI assistant) this on one evening when it rained a lot in Paris and I had nothing better to do.
Right from ‘gourmand’ to ‘joie de vivre’ — it threw up a lot of terms, but only after giving up on AI and ultimately caving in, when I asked one of my human French friends — that this search for the right phrase met its natural end.
‘Aah duu youuu meen — L’art du bien manger’, she responded in a strong french accent.
‘Aah ouias; C’est parfait’ (Aah yes, this is perfect.) I responded with my rather rudimentary french.
‘L’art du bien manger’ translates to ‘the art of eating well’.
Eating well is an art in France as I have often realized. For someone who gulped his food by the desk and often considered it as something that allowed him to continue living (and continue working for longer hours) — it just took me a year in France to learn to ‘bien manger’
Folks who know me post or during my year in France don’t realize — I never ever ate desserts; I never actively chased food or never lined up for good restaurants till I reached the shores of France. It is to the consternation of friends who knew me before France that they are shocked that Monsieur Rane now stands in line at boulangeries to have a fresh croissant; he studies food labels; he wakes up craving sushi/ramen and suddenly misses a good vadapav (a rather holy juxtaposition of mashed cooked golden brown potatoes and fresh soft bread).
One incident stands out — I was sharing an airbnb with a French roommate who didn’t interact a lot with me beyond the necessary ‘bonjours and bonsoirs’. One morning, I found myself in the kitchen for a rare moment — trying to make myself a coffee from a cheap ready-to-drink espresso packet from Carrefour (the French equivalent of Walmart). The espresso tasted nothing like the creamy pressurized 1 euro mixtures that I drank from the tabacs — yet it served its purpose.
In the middle of this existentialism where I was attributing meaning to my terrible coffee and having my first sip, my absurdism was interrupted by till-then rather shy French roommate.
‘Do you want to dreenk this sheet caawfee always or do you want to have reaaall caawfee?”
He proceeded to show me how to use a French press (which I anyway knew but I just gave in rather than cause another French revolution) and rather graciously offered me his ‘not so shit’ brand of coffee. He proceeded to read the labels for me on both and reprimanded me for not trying good coffee. He abruptly left after that, leaving with me a French press and some real coffee in my hand.
I finally had an understanding of ‘L’art de bien manger’ better than any AI could provide.
I took a large sip. My day started well.
*Initially written on my Medium – here
Aditya Rane 