Thursday, May 5, 2016

En Paris Avec Charles

Marcel Proust would undoubtedly have turned his nose up at the madeleines my husband brings home from his forays into Costco, industrial pastries, for sure, but quite tasty in a large plastic container.  As I was popping one into my mouth last evening I was reminded of an experience in a French patisserie several years ago when in a fit of sudden hunger I entered one, totally elegant, the customers therein, all elegant middle aged French ladies with the scarf at the neck, and the gloves and the handbag, as they all are,  and staffed with ladies that were determined to maintain some kind of standard. It was a commonplace in Paris, a setting that demanded of the customer a certain dignity, poise; all I could think of was my mother out shopping having donned grey kid gloves to establish a certain tone to the expedition.  In this shop  I pointed to some pastry in the case and one of the salesladies brought it out with a set of tongs and was on the verge of wrapping, as the French always do, in tissue paper and a box, when I stopped her and said "Non, non, merci," there was quiet as the salesladies studied me and I reviewed my knowledge of the language, after which I said: "C'est pour manger dans la rue."  I heard muffled exclamations on all sides.  The other customers try as they might could not quite control their merriment and contempt for the uncouth, grotesque American, whose French was just this side of a jungle ape, and who was demanding behavior beyond a Parisian's belief.  ("Dans la rue!"  Mon dieu!  Quelle imbecile!).  I wonder if those ladies look back upon that moment.  I won't say that I was the game changer, but nowadays in France, les citoyens are all eating on the street, just like the Americans, as they must have seen in the films before they embarked upon this behavior.  I have offended in one other major way (we will ignore my ignorance of wine and eagerness to down as much as possible in the bistros), and that is my habitual failure to greet a store owner with "Bonjour" when I enter.  My experience in America is that if you greet the owner of a small shop upon entering he or she will immediately come over to engage you in some project of selling you something.  I cannot abide that; I want to be left alone to examine without prejudice of affection or guilt at rejection the items on display.  Not to greet the store owner in France is very very bad manners, indeed.  The greeting is not a laisez passer for an effort to sell anything.  It is just good manners.

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