French Kids Eat Everything Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Karen Le Billon
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The image of a table getting âdressedâ can still send my girls into fits of giggles. But it is actually an accurate description of how the French approach the dining table. They dignify the table, and themselves, through clothing it with the appropriate item to be worn for the most important moment of the day. Setting the table is a ritual that expresses the ceremonial and aesthetic aspects of French eating, at the core of which is the belief that eating is intensely social and that it rightfully happens around the table. This was as true for my in-lawsâ farming neighbors as it was for Philippeâs university friends: everyone âdressedâ the table with (at the minimum) a tablecloth, turning eating into a ritual that was about more than the mere physical consumption of food.
Preparing the table to receive the food in this way might seem a little old-fashioned. But it has a marvelous effect on children. They react as if a stranger in uniform has shown up at the front door: it immediately puts them on their best behavior. This effect is heightened by the rules concerning how the French eat. Food is never eaten standing up, or in the car, or on the go. Food is not eaten anywhere, in fact, but at the table. And food is only served when everyone is at the table. â à table! â is a summons that brings most French children running. Everyone waits for everyone else to be served, and for the ritual â Bon appétit! â to be said before beginning the meal. As children almost always eat with their parents, these habits sink in early.
So eatingâeven everyday mealsâis treated like an occasion. And it is, above all, a social occasion. The French never eat alone (at home or at work) if there is someone else to eat with. And because French food tastes so good, it is an occasion to look forward to.
French foodâeven the simplest of foodsâreally does taste wonderful. I still remember the first yogurt that baby Claire ever tasted in France. We bought it at the local supermarket, so it was nothing out of the ordinary by French standards. Except that it was an extraordinary experience for Claire. Served in a little ochre-colored natural clay pot, capped with a crinkly gold wrapper embossed with a reproduction of Renoirâs famous milkmaid, her yogurt looked like an intriguing Christmas present. Clutching her spoon, she peeled back the wrapping, dipped into the pot, tasted her first mouthful, widened her eyes, bent her head intently, and didnât look up again until every inch was scraped clean. Creamy, rich, tangy without being bitter, French yogurt is simply delicious. This is true for most of the food you find in France. So imagine how French kids feel about it. Food tastes great, is served with a sense of occasion, and is fun because itâs social. The table is where parents and children relax together. It is where they appreciate not only food, but also one another. This makes the rigid approach to food education more bearable for children.
And food education is not something that most French parents view as optional. Because eating is so central to French culture, French kids have to learn how to eat the French way if they want to fit in. It is as important for a French child to learn the food rules as it is for an American teenager to learn how to drive. Itâs a rite of passage and a precondition for successfully navigating through society. So food, unsurprisingly, turned out to be our social entrée into village life.
When we first arrived, I would drive half an hour to the nearest large town grocery store to buy my groceries and do errands ( les courses ), comforted by the familiar act of rolling up and down the aisles with a grocery cart. But the aisles were empty, and the grocery store felt vaguely antiseptic and lonely. So after a couple of weeks, I became a faithful visitor to the village market, which was held twice a week in the
The image of a table getting âdressedâ can still send my girls into fits of giggles. But it is actually an accurate description of how the French approach the dining table. They dignify the table, and themselves, through clothing it with the appropriate item to be worn for the most important moment of the day. Setting the table is a ritual that expresses the ceremonial and aesthetic aspects of French eating, at the core of which is the belief that eating is intensely social and that it rightfully happens around the table. This was as true for my in-lawsâ farming neighbors as it was for Philippeâs university friends: everyone âdressedâ the table with (at the minimum) a tablecloth, turning eating into a ritual that was about more than the mere physical consumption of food.
Preparing the table to receive the food in this way might seem a little old-fashioned. But it has a marvelous effect on children. They react as if a stranger in uniform has shown up at the front door: it immediately puts them on their best behavior. This effect is heightened by the rules concerning how the French eat. Food is never eaten standing up, or in the car, or on the go. Food is not eaten anywhere, in fact, but at the table. And food is only served when everyone is at the table. â à table! â is a summons that brings most French children running. Everyone waits for everyone else to be served, and for the ritual â Bon appétit! â to be said before beginning the meal. As children almost always eat with their parents, these habits sink in early.
So eatingâeven everyday mealsâis treated like an occasion. And it is, above all, a social occasion. The French never eat alone (at home or at work) if there is someone else to eat with. And because French food tastes so good, it is an occasion to look forward to.
French foodâeven the simplest of foodsâreally does taste wonderful. I still remember the first yogurt that baby Claire ever tasted in France. We bought it at the local supermarket, so it was nothing out of the ordinary by French standards. Except that it was an extraordinary experience for Claire. Served in a little ochre-colored natural clay pot, capped with a crinkly gold wrapper embossed with a reproduction of Renoirâs famous milkmaid, her yogurt looked like an intriguing Christmas present. Clutching her spoon, she peeled back the wrapping, dipped into the pot, tasted her first mouthful, widened her eyes, bent her head intently, and didnât look up again until every inch was scraped clean. Creamy, rich, tangy without being bitter, French yogurt is simply delicious. This is true for most of the food you find in France. So imagine how French kids feel about it. Food tastes great, is served with a sense of occasion, and is fun because itâs social. The table is where parents and children relax together. It is where they appreciate not only food, but also one another. This makes the rigid approach to food education more bearable for children.
And food education is not something that most French parents view as optional. Because eating is so central to French culture, French kids have to learn how to eat the French way if they want to fit in. It is as important for a French child to learn the food rules as it is for an American teenager to learn how to drive. Itâs a rite of passage and a precondition for successfully navigating through society. So food, unsurprisingly, turned out to be our social entrée into village life.
When we first arrived, I would drive half an hour to the nearest large town grocery store to buy my groceries and do errands ( les courses ), comforted by the familiar act of rolling up and down the aisles with a grocery cart. But the aisles were empty, and the grocery store felt vaguely antiseptic and lonely. So after a couple of weeks, I became a faithful visitor to the village market, which was held twice a week in the