Berkley Center

"Kathleen, tu verra, quand on mange en France, tout ce dont on parle est de bouffant."

My host father, Jean-Michel, told me this, that the French like to talk about food when they eat, in the very beginning. I had been informed by the Georgetown coordinator for France in the IOP office that the French don't understand vegetarians. "The best thing to do, is just to say you have some type of allergy," he said, "Otherwise, they'll keep trying to turn you!"

I hadn't thought too much about how being a vegetarian would infringe upon my time in France. It had been a part of my life for so long, it was quite normal for me. Besides, I had emailed the French coordinator as a reminder, even after already listing it in my letter to my host family and my application.

And yet, just hours after my arrival in Strasbourg and after what seemed to me an extensive tour of the city after an exhausting day of travel, it was apparent my family had no idea I didn't eat meat. Coming back into our ground floor apartment (incredibly grateful for that detail), my host mother, Marie-Claude, turned to me and said she hoped I was hungry because there were burgers and fries for dinner. Blushing, I fumbled in my tired French, apologizing because I didn't eat burgers. And her reaction was so classically French—food is hospitality, and she was uncomfortable that she hadn't been a proper host.

Fast-forward weeks and months, and I know I'm lucky to have a family that both respects and indulges my vegetarianism. I've always had enough and more to eat, and happily haven't had to give in to being a bread-and-pasta vegetarian, which was never my prerogative. I'd been told being a vegetarian would be uncommonly difficult in France. Whereas the United States is used to multiple dietary ranges—kosher, lactose intolerance, peanut allergies, paleo, and veganism, France is very traditional in culinary customs. Just because you order something at a restaurant that doesn't list meat doesn't mean it won't contain some. (What wholesome meal doesn't have some jambon or poulet—ham or chicken?)

They're always surprised to hear that "American food," or burgers and hot dogs and milkshakes, isn't food that most Americans regularly eat, because baguettes and cheese and wine really is French food, and have remained an important part of their culture as a result of historical events. And really, how is it that despite living in Alsace, the land of beer and tarte-flambées, the Strasbourgeois remain fashionably thin?

However, the food cultures in the United States and France are very different. I know many families in the United States that always eat with the television on, and for mine, we all came home at such different hours, it was very common for us to eat individually. Food is fuel in the United States. We're in love with hand food, snacks, and eating at our desks. In France, a country where everything shuts down between the hours of 12 p.m. and 2 p.m. for lunch, meals are sacred. You eat and drink because the food and company is good.

This can be perfectly demonstrated by a quote from Michael Pollan's book, In Defense of Food. “He showed the words 'chocolate cake' to a group of Americans and recorded their word associations. 'Guilt' was the top response. If that strikes you as unexceptional, consider the response of French eaters to the same prompt: ‘celebration.’”

There is a phrase in French, "le bon vivant," which is what you call someone who likes to eat and drink well. Quality above quantity, this person is a true gourmand and represents French culture well. In my early days of Strasbourg, I'd always make it a point to bring snacks to a party because I was too nervous to bring a wine or beer that wouldn't be of the right mark or quality and therefore prompt my friends to make a judgment on my character based on my taste in food. But in the end, although the French will push their opinions on what is le meuilleur (the best), they're very curious about taste, and a different opinion only expands the continuous conversation of food in society.

Without a doubt, food in France has a very special place in the culture. Just like any language class, one of the first units you study in a French class is food, drinks, and the culture surrounding the two. We learn the different regions and departments of France, what their traditional dishes are, and what type of wine is their specialty. A common conversation in the United States is diet and fitness; what and how much to eat in order to have the right body. The other day, I was at one of the dining halls with my French friend who will be spending her next year abroad at Boston College. For 20 minutes, she and her friends worried to me, "Mais qu'est-ce que je ferrais quand chuis à Boston et il n'y a pas du fromage?!" "What will I do when I'm at Boston and there isn't any cheese?"

Whether we're talking about cheese, like how Mimolette can't be imported into the United States, or how the bacteria in Rocquefort reproduces sexually, or the rising price of bread, or how to aerate wine—my host sister and I had our birthday lunches together and the wine that was served was a Bordeaux from my birth year, 1992—the conversations we have during dinner have a way of beginning with little things—food—and expanding into a larger discourse on family and society. How a certain wine reminds you of your hometown, or the importance of organic food, not only from a standpoint of health or environmentalism, but taste as well.

It's easy for Americans to scoff at the French for traditional concepts like taking such long lunch breaks, but really it's an interesting microcosmic note of their society. Sometimes, you need to take a break and slow down. Taste the wine carefully, eat a portion of cheese without anything else, stay for dessert, and coffee, and another coffee. Maybe things can be a lot more simple, and we can take everything elementally, à la table.