Cultural differences – US and France

While there have been whole books written about cultural differences, most of my bicontinental friends regard them with scorn. It’s all too easy to mistake bustling brasserie waiters as brusque deliverers of food and long pauses after finishing dessert and coffee as inattentive service lapses but in this and succeeding essays, I’ll try to single out some of the things that strike me as interestingly different rather than misperceived attitudes.

Most striking to me now, much more than 30 or 50 years ago, is the growing gap between portion sizes in our two countries. Just compare the size of soft drink bottles in the US (16, 32 and 64 ounces) with the cans in France (11 ounces). Whenever I return from Europe to the States and eat out, I have to remind myself that an appetizer in America is the size of a main course in France and a main course in the US is enough for two persons.

And then there’s the number of courses. I recall when I encountered two American contract oil guys who were spending the night in Paris en route from the Middle East to the US and were advised by their hotel to go to Goumard. They sat down, looked at the (prix fixe) menu and insisted that they only wanted one dish, the fish, even though warned by the waiter (in excellent English) that it would not be large and was part of a multi-course meal that included (at that time) an amuse gueule, a first, a main, cheese, dessert, coffee, mignardises, wine and bottled water. “No, just the fish and a Coca Cola,” they insisted. Of course, the moment it appeared they felt gypped and groused throughout the meal.

And then there’s the matter of your table being just that, your table. I recall one night at the quirky resto on the Seine, La Timonerie, run by the quirky Philippe Givenchy (I wonder whatever happened to him?), anyway, we were chatting him up at the end and mentioned the number of seatings and covers done by famous New York restaurateurs at the time and he was appalled and astonished. As another chef put it to me when I said how sorry I was to be 15 minutes late for my reservation, “it’s never a problem – it’s your table.” No rush to get you served and shoved out the door for the next horde, sit back and relax. As a student trying to husband my resources, I was always amused to see how long other book-reading young customers could nurse an espresso, Perrier or lemonade. I guess one sees it at Starbucks in the US today but not much elsewhere.

There’s no more stark difference in service in the US and France, though, than the attitude toward clearing the table. In the US if one of say four diners finishes first, whoosh, the plate is whisked away as if the sight of an empty plate is an anathema whereas in France such a gaucherie is never even contemplated.

While the times they are a changing, waitfolk in France are still largely professionals, not out-of-work actors or failed poets. But I’ve been amused more recently to encounter some wait-staff in France who almost fit the American mold. Once, for instance, at the late lamented Pactole, the colorful proprietress, Nedra Gara, apologized for the fact that none of her waitstaff had shown up and pressed her femme de menage into service. While she must have served the family food every day, handling menus and taking orders was a new experience. And my good buddy, the RFC, had to show a new recruit at Gilles Choukroun’s Café Very how to operate a tire bouchon. But these are rare exceptions.

One thing that drives me crazy in the US is the habit of snotty places insisting that everyone be inside the place before you can be seated, even if the designated driver is searching for a parking space, whereas in France, it’s always assumed that you wish to sit, take the weight off your feet, perhaps have an apero or at least a glass of cool water and wait in peace rather than elbow-check at the bar. That cool water, though, that in the 1950’s used to be kept cool in clay jugs, is now under the influence of American over-excess, chilled to the freezing point by ice and refrigerators.

And let’s circle back to rudeness, the first thing French-hating tourists comment on. “The waiters were so rude,” “they didn’t introduce themselves, touch us, translate everything on the menu into flawless English or call us honey.” I have oft said that in over 50 years, I can count on my fingers the number of times I’ve been treated “rudely,” and excepting bored Department store staff, all have been non-French folk whom I assume read too many American detective stories.

The one cultural difference that I fear is eroding that I bemoan is the homogenization or equalization of rituals, traditions and established ways of “doing things.” I like it that the tables are set with glasses and silverware even though it/they may have to be removed/replaced; I like it that the dishes arrive in their proscribed order (salad, cheese and coffee coming at the end not the beginning of the meal;) and I like it that crumbs are swept off when the bread disappears. Saying “Bonjour, ca va, impeccable and au voir” is perhaps regimented but then, I’m old-fashioned, old-school and old-boy and there’s something very genuine about cultural differences in food and eating and service and something very phony about the globalization of everything.

These thoughts were prompted by my thinking back to the way things are done at:

Frenchie

5, rue du Nil, 2nd, (Metro: Sentier)

T:01 40 39 96 19

Closed Sundays, Mondays and Tuesday lunch

Menus: lunch 16 for 2 dishes and 19 € for three – dinner 27 or 33 €.

Blog: John Talbott’s Paris
©by John Talbott 2009