French food for thought

Bonnie White is a senior majoring in journalism.

"Oh my god, I'm in Paris," is what I immediately thought after the plane landed on the runway with a jolt. Then, once the initial excitement wore off a bit, I found myself realizing, "Oh my god, I'm starving."

The airline did serve dinner and a sad little pastry for breakfast, but it wasn't very appetizing, and I was too drowsy to think to save it in case I got hungry later.
Luckily, I couldn't have landed in a better place to be starving. In a city known for its excellent cuisine and obsession with fresh bread, cheese and wine, I was excited to see what I could find to satisfy my hunger.

Unfortunately, after landing, I still had several hours of making it through customs, baggage claim, finding an ATM and the correct Air France bus to take me to l'Arc de Triomphe and then finding a cab to drive me to where I'd be staying. By the time I set my bags down in my room I was so grateful to understand my host mother, who doesn't speak English, when she asked me if I'd like some breakfast.

In the few days I've spent living in Paris, I've learned a lot about how they eat. It's always an event, never something you do standing over the stove, in the car or walking down the street. There is the exception of one-handed crepe eating and the occasional fresh baguette in tow, which is something I see surprisingly often. I had the impression that images of skinny French people with baguettes in their bags or bicycle baskets were contrived pictures that travel companies put in their magazines, but no, it is typical French culture at its finest.

When I eat with the family I live with, I'm surprised at the constant effort they put into each meal. I have a designated cloth napkin I use at every meal. The table is always set with silverware, dishes and glasses before we eat. At night, my host mother even sets out the next morning's breakfast spread, sans the milk and butter.

An avid coffee drinker, I was happy to find they often use small bowls for coffee. Most of the time I use the Maxwell House instant coffee, which makes me feel horribly American, but it actually tastes better in Paris then it does back home, if you can believe it. Breakfast feels like the most typically American meal. Here it consists of toast, cereal and coffee or orange juice, except the jam is home-made (the best I've ever had) and the toast is more pound cake than Wonder Bread.

Lunch and dinner on the other hand begin with the main dish, followed by a cheese course, fruit and then dessert. It's easy to understand how the French can make a meal last for hours. Thankfully, the meals with my host family do not last that long. The jet-lag did not improve my French, surprisingly, and there is little to talk about when struggling to remember the past five semesters of French class.

I don't know if the French get the late-night munchies, but I think that's one of my American eating habits I'm not ready to relinquish quite yet – maybe after the jet-lag wears off. Thankfully I remembered this time to save some left over food in the fridge.