Reflections on World Travel
7 Life Lessons I Learned in a Restaurant in France
Life lessons at the dinner table
Conversation, story-telling, and laughter are the most important items on the menu of a French dining experience… and those scallops wrapped in filo dough!
Despite the fact that we really couldn’t afford it, we started traveling to France in the summers when our children were all pre-teens. (I’ll write another post at some point about self-catering vacations and credit card points.) Since we are meandering naturists, France was an obligatory destination as there’s simply no better place on the planet to enjoy that style of travel. But once you immerse yourself into the sun-drenched beauty and culture of the South of France, you’re pretty much wrecked for life. And much of that reaches consummation around the dinner table.
With that, I offer seven defining characteristics of dining at a restaurant in France, each of which have metaphorical parallels in the qualities of daily existence. I don’t think I need to convince anybody that the French have a strong affinity for preparing and consuming fine food, but for me, the intriguing part is how that corresponds with how they live their lives in general. Something we’ve sought to emulate at home ever since that very first trip.
Presentation matters
Look in any foodie magazine, and if it was prepared by a French chef you’ll know it straight away. I think of a scallop sculpted into a cocoon of filo dough, or ordinary potatoes positioned to draw attention to the main course, or even the intentional drizzle of chocolate at the edge of your dessert plate that simply begs you to lick the dish clean. Every course is a work of art. | And so it is with the way French people decorate their homes. Cultivate their gardens. Or simply attend to the details of living in the moment surrounded by small accents that celebrate beauty.
Small portions get the job done
For the uninitiated American who typically dines at the Texas Road House, they may be surprised to see the featured “hunk of beef” is quite small by comparison, adorned with whipped potatoes and greens while consuming less than half of the plate. (I always guffaw when I read restaurant reviews where people complain about the small portions.) The emphasis is on savoring a moment of joy on the palate as opposed to scarfing down fried onions and potato skins until you feel like you have a bowling ball in your stomach. I’ve never left a French restaurant hungry, nor have I ever left feeling bloated. | The French embrace the ideals of moderation in so many facets of their lives, shunning the mantra that if a little is good, a lot must be ecstasy. Who needs a grande pumpkin spice mega-latte when a single espresso will get the job done?
Snails and Brussels sprouts can be delicious
I was a picky eater as a kid, and to some degree, I still am. But escargot (Snails!) swimming in butter lives amongst the most euphoric eating endeavors I’ve ever experienced. And the things they can do to make vegetables so much more than “edible!” You wouldn’t believe it! I’ll admit that I still haven’t developed a palate for some of those intestinal-based dishes, though if I’m being honest, I might just enjoy it if I don’t know what it is! | Nuance and attention to detail seems to be in the DNA of most French people, even in the way they engage you in conversation. They tend to avoid fast food much in the same way they are disinterested in small talk. A utilitarian facet of life they’d simply rather forego.
Take your time; get it right
And speaking of fast food… I also cringe when I read restaurant reviews about the slow service and how it took over an hour to get through dinner. Most French restaurants only book one seating per table per night, knowing that said table will likely be occupied for two or three hours minimum. We once were invited to Christmas dinner at a home in Paris. As I recall, we sat down at the table around 8:00 pm and finally excused ourselves shortly before 2:00 am, forfeiting the ninth course of the meal. | French people are adamant about their 35-hour work week, and are not prone to volunteer to throw in an additional 20 hours to “push that project forward.” (Yet another post on the drawing board.) In this light, food becomes a metaphor for all things worth savoring in life. Stop the clock. Engage in the moment. Indulge in the pleasures of simply being alive.
Children are actually small humans
Our children were nine and eleven the first time we took them to a restaurant in France. Just an ordinary — and thus extraordinary — bistro along the road in a small village in the Dordogne. The meal lasted nearly three hours and somehow they found a new resolve to sit at the table, talk with each other, and behave like the small humans they actually were. Is this 100% foolproof? Of course not. But there’s something about the way the French interact with their children that makes them feel included and participatory in all facets of adult life, including the enjoyment of food and table conversation. | Walking through the streets of a French village near midnight last summer there was a live band playing on a small stage on the street. People were laughing, drinking, and literally dancing in the streets, and a significant percentage of that population was in the under 11-years-old set, sometimes dancing with mom, or a grandparent, or with each other. How amazing it that? Parents actually enjoying their children!
Beverage pairings and pacing matters
“I’ll have the seven-course prix fixe menu please, with the suggested wine pairings.” An aperitif before the meal, a modest pour of two or three wines to bring out the essence of the food and the bouquet of the wine, perhaps a digstif with dessert to embrace one more round of funny stories, then a shot of espresso to send you on your way home. (Though by that time, you may want to call an Uber!) | It keeps coming back to nuance, and one’s ability to recognize it when you’re experiencing it, while allowing time and space to appreciate living in the moment. That easily translates to a walk in the park. Reading a book in a café. Or even people watching at a train station. Enjoying the luxury to notice everything around you and the interaction of those things that results in a unique, fleeting moment in time.
Conviviality is the main course
If you’re going to spend three hours at the dinner table, you’d best find a way to get past your introverted tendencies. I suspect the wine will help with that. Conversation, story-telling, and laughter are the most important items on the menu of a French dining experience. The more people at the table, the more stories to be told, the more laughter that will ensue. | The concept of conviviality is perhaps the most important value we have taken from our experiences in France. A zest for being alive and interacting with people you care about with genuine compassion and affection. A priceless commodity.
Years after that experience with our children, we lived in Provence for a year. To be sure, not every meal was a seven-course extravaganza, nor was every interaction with every French person a convivial love fest. But I don’t think anybody could argue about whether the French take their food very seriously, much in the same way they embrace the overall quality of life. I so admire that perspective to this day.
What will I remember at the end of a busy and stressful week? The fifteen-page report I agonized over in the shadow of an imposing deadline? (Like the one I’m avoiding right now while writing this article? ) Most likely not. But I will likely remember that recent evening shared with friends and family over good food and wine for a long time, maybe even the rest of my days, just like I remember that meal in the French bistro with our (now grown) children as if it were yesterday.
And oh… I’ll also remember that scallop wrapped in filo dough that made my eyes well up with joy. In fact, I still tear up when I think about it.
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