On speaking French when dining

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On speaking French when dining
So what’s so funny about that and why am I the last person who should write on this topic? Well, first, I find it funny because we Americans mangle the language of Moliere so much worse than the French twist the tongue of Shakespeare; so badly that we are often afraid to take even baby-steps towards talking. And second, I’m the last person who should lecture anyone on speaking French because I’m a prime example of a linguistic coward. Despite my secondary school teachers’ dedication to teach me how to read and write French, neither they nor I could speak a word of it and if we did, our accents were horrible. And, during a summer when I was supposed to be speaking French with my French “family,” I usually lapsed into English with my American roommate and French-Scots “father.” On taking my first sabbatical in France almost twenty years ago, I took the snotty attitude that I was coming to Paris for the French science, culture and food and that their language had nothing to do with those. (About now, at my house, my kids would start looking at the ceiling and whispering “get to the point Dad.”) OK, admission: they have everything to do with them and while not necessary, because every really educated person in French has taken a gazillion years of English and any service person in a hotel or restaurant catering to Americans, Japanese and even other Europeans, speaks it – it’s nice to make the effort. Oh, all the guidebooks will tell you to start off every conversation, even at Customs, with a heartfelt “Bonjour Monsieur or Madame.” And every cautionary tale about shopping begins by suggesting that one address the postal clerk or department store salesperson with a preemptory “Excusez-moi de vous deranger, mais…..” But then whadda ya say? Most of us are stumped. Now about here, someone inserts: “But in Italy I really try to speak Italian because there they look delighted at the simplest utterance, while here (in France) they look puzzled when I say something as understandable as ‘rue.’” Confession: I look puzzled too – now. What has happened to me over these decades? I’m not sure but I’m sure why – it’s because one’s ear hears Italian words quite differently than French ones; and if someone pronounces accueil or Maine the American way, (ack-oil and May-ne rather than acc-oie and Men), you don’t hear it. So it seems that I’m making an argument for continuing to keep your yap shut and let the French waiters struggle to explain the menu in English. Nope, wrong. I’m making a plea for learning at a minimum what I call “restaurant French,” that is, the ability to say “I would like to reserve….I would like to order…..Thank you…..Goodbye….., etc” Anyone who’s cooked, knows most cooking terms (poelée, cru(e), unilateral(e), etc.), as well as most ingredients (bar, boeuf, tarte, etc). Honestly now, if you stare for a few minutes at a French menu, is there much you don’t recognize? And while small snails have different names in Poitou (lumas) than in the adjacent Charentes (cagouilles), just ask what something is or how it is prepared and you’ll get the answer (e.g., it’s an ancient type of root vegetable sautéed in oil). If all else fails, try Franglais, it works for them, why not for us? Finally, carry the superb little food dictionary – The A-Z of French Food. And gestures can work too. A few months ago I was having lunch at a Chinese place noted for its seafood. I was able to figure out that they had eel on the menu and ordered it but lost in translation was my answer to a question asked in impenetrable Cantonese. No problem, the waiter disappeared for a few seconds and reappeared with a bucket full of eels – indicating that all I had to do was point and it was mine. I should not leave you with the sense that I’m still totally verbally unintelligible; indeed, occasionally I can make my point in French. I came to this realization after trying to return a microwave casing to D’Arty and being told, “No,” then “well maybe,” then “well OK, but no refund,” then “well OK but you’ll have to wait for the refund by check,” to “yes, here’s the cash.” Bottom line: while once a language snot, I’ve become appreciative of the effort anyone, truly anyone, makes to try, just try, to speak a few words in another language. (And I think the French do too, although they’ll never tell you, unless to overstate how well you speak). As usual, here are my addresses: Senderens9 place de la Madeleine, 8th (Metro : Madeleine) T : 01 42 65 22 90Open lunch and dinner everydayA la carte from 80-100 €. The A-Z of French FoodGenevieve de Temmerman and Didier ChedorgeEditions Scribo, 1988, ParisAvailable at Brentano’s, 37 Avenue de l’Opera in the 8th.
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