Friday, April 04, 2003

The Food War

If you’ve been on the Internet lately you’ve no doubt been zapped by a pop-up ad urging you to “boycott France.” Given an American political climate in which “you’re either with us or against us,” French President Jacques Chirac’s UN veto threat was an insult too pointed to ignore. “Boycott France” has emerged as the patriotic response, and Hit the road, Jacques is its message.

This call for a boycott is surely meant to be mocking as well as threatening, since the French are always boycotting something American, like McDonald’s hamburgers or genetically modified grain. But how can American consumers hurt France? What is it exactly that we import from there? perfume? exotic lingerie? philosophy? Or does the phrase “boycott France” simply mean don’t travel to France? Don’t see Paris. Don’t visit Provence. Don’t give the French your tourist dollars. The problem with this strategy is that we aren’t likely to give our loyal ally Britain our tourist dollars this summer either, not with a war on and the likelihood of terrorist attacks. So what exactly are we expected to do?

In the end, won’t the battle have to transpire over the dinner table? After all, isn’t food what first leaps to mind in connection with France—food and wine? Yet in any food fight against France we’re likely to run low on ammunition fast. And already our congressional leaders have hit us with friendly fire, uncorking the opening salvo of the French-American food war by renaming the French fries on the House cafeteria menu “freedom fries.” And yes, French toast became “freedom toast.” Like so many acts of Congress, this one seems only to open the way for people to have their French toast and eat it too. Besides, these were not French potatoes, nor was the toast made from French bread.

The real problem is that we can’t have a popular revolt against products that aren’t popular here. That’s our fault and our loss, but it’s too late to do anything about it. French foods are distinctive and full of character. Consider French cheeses. Whether oozy, crumbly or creamy, French cheese is a pungent, sensual food whose flavors explode in your mouth. By contrast, American cheese—dyed orange, ultra-pasteurized into blandness and wrapped tight in plastic to keep it that way—is as interesting as a block of cold margarine. American cheese is cheese for people who don’t like cheese, just as American bread is bread for people who don’t really like bread. Let’s face it, American food, fast food, is food for people who don’t really like eating at all. The French love to eat, an activity that entails sitting for a long while and tasting, conversing, digesting. We rejected those fussy values long ago.

I recall from my student days how shocked one of my professors, a French philosopher (let’s call him Jacques), was when an American waiter, noticing the food still remaining on his plate toward the end of dinner, asked him, “Are you still working on that, sir?” Working?! As a Frenchman, Jacques could never think of eating as work. But for us, eating is mostly a matter of working our jaw muscles.

Don’t even talk about wine. Americans are cola drinkers, milk drinkers. That’s a shame. If more of us appreciated French wines, now would be the perfect time to show our patriotism by turning up our noses, because the 2000 Bordeaux are just now hitting the market. (The 2000 vintage is the best since 1961, a viticultural miracle that occurs, on average, once in a lifetime.) Last week I stopped surreptitiously at our local wine merchant to check them out. The proprietor said he had debated whether to purchase any of the new French wines. Was it right to “support” France? he wondered. Would anyone buy them? He said he ultimately decided to order them because the policies of the French government weren’t the fault of the French people; and besides, “if other people don’t want them,” he reasoned, “that only leaves more for me.”

Last night I was caught behind enemy lines. As I lingered over a glass of St. Emilion, that purple velvety liquid suffused with layers of dark berry wrapped in a smoky finish, I knew it was too late for me. I had become a casualty of the food war.

This is Joe Chaney, for Michiana Chronicles, saying bon appetit ... I mean, uh ... are you still working on that?

Broadcast by Joe Chaney on April 04, 2003
Food • Peace & War • Permalink • Printer Friendly
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