The Art of the French Lunch

I woke up to a rainy, dreary South of France, but even the clouds could not dampen my spirit.  I applied a bit of makeup (a necessity in France), threw on my coat, grabbed an umbrella, and headed out to marche along the sea.  Even on a wet day, this part of the world has a special brightness.  The rain fell off of the petals of the budding flowers, the sea crashed up against the rocks with a powerful surge, but it was all those darn cute French umbrellas that caught my attention the most. 

I have discovered that the French live their lives in the details.  That’s why there are lingerie shops and coiffures on every corner, but umbrellas?  Yes, beautifully orchestrated to blend with their chic sense of style –interesting plaids, stunning florals, handcrafted wooden handles, and perfectly rounded tops. 

Apparently, a rainy day does not release a woman’s duty to don the stiletto.  This type of dress should be a sport.  Really.  Balancing, not sliding, and looking absolutely stunning despite the humidity that had my hair frizzed up before I could get into the village.  I would love to know how they manage such a feat. 

After umbrella stalking, I came back to the apartment, did some work, and decided to treat myself to a real French lunch.  To escape the rain, I chose the first brasserie, Edmond’s, which sat the bottom of the 270 steps that I had to descend to enter French civilization. 

The waiter, a friendly dark haired gentleman, greeted me at the door.  “Bonjour Madame!”

“Bonjour Monsieur, Je voudrais une table pour une, sil vous plait!”

“Where would you like to sit, Madam,” he asked in English, a dead giveaway that my French est horrible!

I sat by the window and started taking notes.  Here are my raw observations that I wrote as I observed the art of the French lunch (dejeuner):

After ordering “fizzy” water, the waiter brings over a handwritten chalkboard with today’s selections.   Ironically, I understand everything written on the menu….just can’t speak it.

When I tell the waiter that I’m just going to have a main course, he inquires if I am familiar with the ways of the French lunch.  Well, apparently not if he must ask, I’m thinking.  “No really,” I reply. 

“Well, madam, let me assist you,” he says sincerely. “Why don’t I bring you a starter course?” 

 “D’accord” (OK).

“Do you like vegetables and anchovies?”

“Oui!”  (OK, so I’m not crazy about the thought of this pairing, but why not? I might as well expand my palate.)

“Perfect.  You will love this.  For your main course, what would you like?”

“Poulet (Chicken).”

“Perfect.”

Off to the kitchen he goes, and I have no idea what I’ve ordered until I find the chicken dish on the menu: blanc de poulet sauce aux cepe (white chicken with mushroom sauce), and I assume my starter is the Anchiade legumes croquants.

There is a lovely older couple sitting beside me enjoying a bottle of white wine.  She’s wearing a red wool hat, and her eye makeup is very dramatic for a woman of advanced age (I’m talking 80′s). I love it!  

Across the restaurant is a group of construction workers, but they aren’t the typical greasy, baggy jeans, ball caps, smelly kind of workers that you see filing into McDonalds to get a quick lunch.  These men have on somewhat clean working pants, nice casual zip up jackets, and I cannot determine if they smell from here, but my guess is not.  They have three courses, each paired with a small glass of wine, and a café at the end.  I timed their lunch: 1 hour 38 minutes. 

Can you imagine?  We’re lucky to get the full thirty minutes back home. In fact, my daughter is so graciously allowed twenty to choke down her lunch.  I’m sure my French waiter would respond, “Pas possible!”

A couple of les femmes are sitting diagonally from me looking like they stepped of the cover of Vogue.  I’m convinced the style gods originated in France, and still shine their stylish glory all over this place.  These two women, who combined probably weigh less than I do, are munching away on their third course – a chocolate mousse with berries -with, of course, a café (they do not split the dessert and they eat it all).

I notice that I am not the only solo diner in this establishment.  In fact, dining alone must be tres chic en France.  Suddenly, I don’t feel alone at all. 

My first course arrives and it is simply beautiful – a mixture of raw carrots, celery, endive, red cabbage, bell pepper, tomatoes – and the anchovies happen to be the ingredient in the sauce that is for dipping the vegetables.  C’est bon. In fact, it’s not just good; it’s delicious. 

After twenty minutes of struggling with cutting small bites of raw vegetables, I finish my first course, realizing that I was a bit too proper when the older man beside simply picks up the vegetables with his hand and dips them into the sauce, a culinary obvious.  Oh well, this IS a learning process.

My main course arrives, and it is as equally simple in its preparation, but scrumptious, nevertheless.  The chicken is sliced with a light mushroom sauce.  What I notice is that the mushrooms almost dissolve in my mouth and are accompanied by the aroma of truffles.  Heaven.  Perfectly roasted vegetables accompany the dish. 

I decide against dessert.  I know I’ll kick myself later, but some things take time, and the thought of a three-course lunch is still very foreign to me, especially with wine (which I also skipped). 

The atmosphere, the food, and especially the waiter (who cared for me like an adult would care for a lost child) helped me to understand the art of the French lunch.

Here’s my summary on the elements of the French dejeuner:

• It is centered around conversation
• It is a definite beginning and end – start with water and end with the café
• Lunch is a cherished event
• It takes at least an hour
• The portions are small
• The French never take more than a thumb size bite
• Ice is a rarity
• They frequently put their utensils down between bites to converse
• Dessert is viewed as pure pleasure, not an act that requires a five mile run as penance 
• It is a nice break to the day
• The quality of food is more important than the quantity
• The French take eating very seriously