In Fast food, French style, a reader asked “why not pack a lunch from home?”. And here’s a story illustrating why..

Packing a lunch is quite common in the US but not so in France. I remember once I was chatting with a coworker who brought homemade sandwiches but he ate them outside on a bench, alone. I thought it’d be better for team building if he ate with the rest of the team so I asked him about it and he said he brings his own lunch to save money. If you read the previously mentioned blog, you’d know that a lunch in the cafeteria is subsidized by the company and ends up costing 3 euros / $4 but what I didn’t mention is that if you eat at the client site and cannot benefit from the company’s canteen you get a “ticket restaurant”. A “ticket resto” as they’re usually called is a voucher good at restaurants and some grocery stores. The amount is usually the same as the company’s contribution for the cafeteria, 4.20 euros (about $5.50).

So I say “Why don’t you eat your sandwich in the canteen with us?” and he said “Quelle honte!” (“How embarassing!”).

Now as I’m writing this my wife tells me about her father (who’s not French BTW) who brought his lunch to work when my wife was young. He did it to save up the ticket resto so that on Saturdays he could take the family out to a restaurant. I like that story, because it’s sweet and if you are French you appreciate the sacrifice. And that’s no doubt what my coworker was doing, so he could take his girlfriend out on the weekends.

In the US, most of the places I worked didn’t have canteens and I always brought my lunch (Budget Gourmet & Michelina’s baby!). Eating out was a special occasion. Here in France, I’ve never seen someone eat a homemade lunch at work. If they do, they hide it well.

One more story, this one from the US. I had a friend who “had” to bring his lunch every day. For financial reasons? Not really, or at least not directly. His wife was making his lunch and I’m not sure he had a choice. So on the days that we went out to a restaurant, he’d throw away the lunch his wife made and eat with us at the restaurant!
(I hope she’s not reading this.)

Hopefully that’s some food for thought. If you have comments, ideas, or questions, just post’em here!

For the past 3 years I’ve been working on projects done in our company’s office, and have had the luxury of eating in the cafeteria. In France we call it “canteen”, which sounds English to me. It’s very good and very cheap, typically 4 euros after the company’s participation of about 3 euros. That makes it about $5 depending on exchange rates. BTW, just to give you an idea of inflation, when I first came to France I worked for a very large (and generous) company and a lunch at the canteen cost 10 Frances at the time (2000). That’s $2!

And eating there is very efficient (fast). When necessary I was capable of eating in 15 minutes, but we usually took 45 to get a good break and have interesting discussions (when the discussions were about foot (“soccer”) I tended to make it 30 minutes and escaped excused myself).

So recently I started a consulting assignment at the client’s office. It’s a relatively small company, not a start-up by any means but they seem to operate in start-up mode (very casual, fun and friendly atmosphere, cutting corners on procedures, etc.). Now here is where it gets interesting: They have a cafeteria, but it’s shared with another company in another building about 10 minutes walk away. When we work at the client’s site, we’re allowed 4.20 euros per day to offset the higher costs of eating out.

So at the client’s site there are two groups of people, the company employees and the employees of my company who are there on the project. Some of the company employees eat at the cafeteria, but due to the higher cost for non-employees (about 9 euros) the employees of my company don’t eat there. So where do they eat?

Well we can again divide the people into two groups: sandwiches and non-sandwiches. The sandwich group includes the management (both my company and the client), because they don’t have time for anything else. The sandwich group also includes many of my company’s software developers because it’s cheaper. A 7 euro sandwich/drink/desert special minus 4.20 euros = less than 3 euros for your meal. About the same as the company cafeteria, although instead of getting a good healthy balanced meal you’re eating a ton of bead with an incredibly small amount of meat.

Now I have to clarify because sandwiches means sandwiches from a French boulangerie (“bakery”), made fresh every day using the delicious French bread. At home we buy fresh bread from the bakery all the time, and once my wife brought home some Harry’s bread (an industrial brand with a name that is supposed to sound American, it’s like Wonder or Butternut, etc.). Our daughter wouldn’t eat it! So that should tell you how good the French bread is.

I stress this point about the sandwiches because in the US if you want something quick and cheap, you’re going to Burger King, Wendy’s, Taco Bell, KFC, etc. And the French bakery sandwiches are much healthier for you. However, according to recent reports, these French sandwiches aren’t as healthy as a regular balanced meal. So I can’t even imagine how unhealthy the American fast food option is!

To add another issue into the mix, I went to a local French/Portugese café with my coworkers. The people on both sides of me were smoking like they were in a competition to see who could ruin a lung the fastest. There is never a non-smoking section in these small restaurants, making a non-smoking table but that’s it. For the rest of the day I smelled like an ashtray. So now eating at these small restaurants is out. At least until 2008 when the public smoking ban goes into effect (I can’t wait!).

So I’m left with two choices: The cafeteria or sandwiches. If I have time I go for the cafeteria, even if it means going by myself. If not, then I have to grab a sandwich. I much prefer working at offices with a cafeteria in-house, one where people actually eat there. Today I’m at yet another client’s office and they have a good canteen (I’ve eaten here before). Yet my coworkers didn’t even give an option, if I ate with them we were going to a restaurant. A “woman’s restaurant” they later admitted. 17 euros and I was still hungry. At least it was completely non-smoking. Tomorrow I think I’ll grab a sandwich.

One of the things I like about Paris is that it’s in your face. What do I mean by that? I mean, nothing is hidden, everything is out in the open. You’re in it. Whether it’s in the city, in the subway, the dog poop, or walking through crowds of hundreds (if not thousands) of people. Compare this to typical US cities where everyone is isolated in the protection of their cars or offices. I know, comparing France’s capital to smaller US cities isn’t fair but it certainly is fun.

So here’s an example from last Friday. It’s a pretty common one but this one had a twist. I left work Friday night about 6:30pm and was on my way to meet my wife in Chinatown for some good Chinese food. On the subway a bum gets on and starts asking for money. I couldn’t understand him very well, which was surprising because most of the bums have their little speech worked out to perfection. Poverty and homeless is a big problem in almost all major countries, but what’s different about it in Paris is that you can’t hide from it. Even if you drive your Mercedes sedan to work you’re likely to come across a bum in between the parking garage and the office. And if you’re like me and rely upon public transportation, you can’t hide from “it” because you’re in “it”.

So the bum gives his story, rather unconvincingly I thought, and when he finishes the guy in front of him gives him some coins. Now all this is typical and an almost daily occurance (sometimes I get the pleasure of several speeches in one day). But the twist came when the bum turns around and walks towards one end of the train to solicit more money and that’s when I see he has a can of Amsterdam beer in the beverage holder of his backpack. Amsterdam is a favorite of the homeless, alcoholics, and bums because it’s cheap and has a higher than average alcohol content. I’ve never tasted it so I can’t give a judgment. And this is one reason that I don’t give money to the bums, because many (if not most) are alcoholics and/or smokers. A bum with a can of beer or a pack of cigarettes just doesn’t tug my heart strings.

Although I could do without the bums on the trains and the alcoholics in the streets, people camping out under tunnels, etc., I do like the fact that it’s a reminder that we should be thankful for what we have and that we should help others. In the US, it was rare to have this shoved in your face like this and the result is people tend to forget about it.

I’ll be exploring this idea from other angles, so follow the tag in your face.

At the canteen (“cafeteria”) in my old building, there was one of the cooks that we called Le Moustachu (hard to translate because it’s a made-up word derived from moustache (“mustache”), it means “The Mustache Man”). He’s skinny, grey hair, wears a really tall hat (the kind you’d find on the cooks at the Hilton), and of course has a pretty thick Soup Nazi-ish mustache. He was very unfriendly and often scolded the young girls who had the unfortunate displeasure of working with him. It was so bad that we stopped going to his station (the BBQ) even if he had the day’s best lunch.

So one day, the cafeteria does this survey. So we fill them out and one of my coworkers, who really dislikes Le Moustachu, writes a little paragraph about him in the “additional comments” section. We tell him they’re not going to know which guy he’s writing about so he draws an amazing accurate picture of the guy. So we all laugh as we turn in our surveys.

The next week the guy was not there. Vacation? Nope. He never came back. Whoa, did we get him fired? “Hope so” my friend said. And that is the story of le moustachu.

Well almost. About 6 months later (maybe more), I go to the cafeteria and I choose the international station where they usually have a good mix of ethnic foods. And low and behold there he is, Notre Moustachu! (“our mustache guy!”). Being a fan of exotic food, I almost always go to this stand. So I start seeing him every day.

Now here I must take a small detour to tell you that in general, Americans like a lot of sauce and the French do not. I often see the French eating a fillet of fish and white rice, without any sauce! Yuck! So I have a habit of asking for extra sauce. And Le Moustachu is no exception. “May I please have some more sauce?” I managed to squeak out one day. “Vous être Anglais?” (“Are you English?”) he asks? I tell him I’m American and he gives me a second ladle of sauce. Cool.

The next day he recognizes me and says “Hello” in English. So I try to say a few words in English that he would understand, like “thank you”. So this goes on for a few days and he’s getting friendlier and friendlier. It gets to the point where I don’t even have to ask for extra sauce. In fact, he’s giving me three ladles of sauce which is way too much! I’ve never had so much sauce in France! I’m drowning in it!! So I’m quite proud of myself because I’ve got him in my pocket with my charming American accent! And to think this was the mean guy we tried to get fired. It turns out he’s a nice guy after all!

Ok, the story’s not over yet. Not too long after making friends with Le Moustachu I transferred to another division in the building next door. And after being absent from the cafeteria for a month, I started eating there with my new coworker. He likes ethnic food too so we go to the international station and I see Le Moustachu. I explain to my friend how the guy is really mean to people but nice to me. So when it’s our turn I say “hi” to Le Moustachu and he completely ignores me and just serves me my food and doesn’t even give me a second look. So my friend, who is a real smart-ass (like myself, which is why we have so much fun together) says “I thought you said this guy was your friend!” really loud. I was a bit embarrassed because it was like Le Moustachu didn’t know me at all.

We don’t eat there very often, as we’re often on assignments at client sites. But I am not giving up on Le Moustachu, I’m going to win him over again. And I’m going to enjoy my extra sauce!

I had to go to the pharmacy today at lunch to pick up a prescription. It’s a special medicine that’s not available to the public in France so I have to go to a hospital in Paris to get it. If that sounds quite serious it’s really not, the version in France has aspartame which gives me headaches so they special another brand without aspartame. And I think it’s very cool that they do that for me. Not only that, it’s completely free.

So back to my story, I go every 2 months to get it and there is usually this old, unfriendly pharmacist that works in the hospital pharmacy. Now to make this even more complicated (please bear with me), only a pharmacy intern can dispense this medicine. A few times ago, after several times of waiting in line only to be told “You should have told us it’s a special medicine so we can call an intern”, I come in and go to the counter. The old hag is there, I call her “the witch”, and I say something like “Hello, excuse me I have an ATU.” And what does she say? She starts fussing at me saying I have to wait my turn. So I tell her “I was told to tell you right away that I have an ATU so that you can call an intern.” Now how can she argue with that? I’m doing what I’m told right? No she continues fussing at me and I’m not backing down, I tell her that I’m just doing what I was told. So she tells me to sit down and wait my turn and then I see her quietly call for an intern. Yes! Gagné! (I win!). So this witch really annoys me and I dread going to the pharmacy. I’ve been dealing with her for several years now and she’s not close to retirement..

Fast forward a few months to today.. I go to the pharmacy, hoping the witch will be at lunch. They changed the pharmacy location and so I follow directions to the new entrance and then I see a bunch of signs that say go to accueil (“information”) and I see three glass boxes (apparently for privacy) and then a door and a big counter and I quickly read the sign and I see accès .. publique (“public .. access”) so I go in and up to the counter and low and behold, the witch. So I give my friendly greeting Bonjour! (maybe it’s the exclamation point that got her upset) but she starts fussing at me right away! Holy crap, all I did was say Bonjour!! She explains that I’m not allowed in there and that I have to go to the accueil. So I open up the door and reread the sign, which says accès interdit au publique (“access forbidden”). Yeah, that small word interdit (“forbidden”) changes everything. So I go to one of the boxes which I see is marked accueil and she does the same from the other side.

Expecting a big scolding I announce that I’m sorry, that I just saw the accès publique and she starts telling me how I should actually read the text. Now this is the real reason why traffic signs don’t have many words, because people like me wouldn’t read them. So I keep talking, trying to charm her a bit with my American accent and to my amazement she starts smiling and chuckling. No, not a real laugh, just a chuckle. But it was a major success for me, I made the witch smile! Gagné!!

So then I inform her I have an ATU and she calls the intern. And I got my medicine. Moral of the story? I guess the obvious one is that one should always read all the text but no that’s no fun so let’s not go there. The real moral of the story is that when you come across a crabby French person, take it as a challenge to make them laugh or even just crack a smile. It’s a fun game and one I’ll be playing more and more. My theory is that if you’re really goofy and polite, no matter how crabby they are, they can’t resist. It’s a theory that I’ve been testing for a while with moderate success. I’m going to make it a point for this blog to keep testing, and I’ll post the results here. Just follow the tag getting the mean ones to be nice. I’ve already got another example that turned out well if only for a short time.