Ptipois

IMO that pretty well sums up what one needs to know about the current subject. The best advice I can give to non-French visiting France is: relax. Did you mean "more polite" by any chance? Though (again) there's really nothing wrong with using someone's toilet, peeing in their driveway sounds truly appalling. Is there a place in the world where it wouldn't? This is not a rhetorical question.

You politely ask for your glass to be refilled.

I know that gesture. It is generally used to embarrass someone so much that he or she drops the subject. It is quite efficient but absolutely infuriating because of its hypocrisy. Personally I find it rude and patronizing, but it is sometimes done. Actually it is not manners but social strategy; true manners would consist in pretending not to notice that the person is "too serious" about the conversation. I also think a woman not only would not get away with it, she'd get away with it much less than a man, since she's not supposed to pour wine in the first place.

David, since this is not related to food, I'll reply in PM.

Well, John, this one is indeed in the "go figure" category. (But the word is always a noun. In "eau de toilette" you have a noun (toilette) with a partitive (de).) Toilette, basically, means ablution, washing oneself, freshening up (the old-fashioned way, using a jug and basin, as in the days when there weren't any bathrooms). Ancestors of bathrooms were called "cabinets de toilette". Later when water pipes became more common in households, it went to include a sink and sometimes a bidet, but when it started wearing tiles and including showers and bath tubs, it was plainly a "salle de bains". Toilettes (plural), that is the bathroom (US acception)/loo. Eau de toilette (singular) is a kind of perfume, weaker than parfum. The name is from the days when one used the cabinet de toilette to freshen up in the morning. But (and that's what makes the word even trickier) "toilettes" also mean a lady's fancy clothes and best dresses; as in "elle a de belles toilettes" (she wears very nice clothes). Definitely old-fashioned but still in use. It can be singular or plural : "elle est en toilette d'été" : she's wearing Summer attire. And that's not over. "Toiletter un chien" means grooming a dog, trimming the poodle. Toilette is also, finally, a section of beef or veal tripe and then I think it's over, I also think it's enough. Sorry for straying away from food subjects, though tripe drove us back to them.

There weren't any loos in the 18th century. The ladies would have had nowhere to go to anyway. The little china device was merely an miniature version of the portable chairs which were widely used in households (another solution was to reach for the garden or, at night and in later times, to use removable devices placed in private cabinets). Nobody minded at the time. "Private" functions were not privatized until the 19th century. If there ever were a reason for that long-defunct rule of not leaving the table until the meal is over, it would be that one precisely, rather than any notion of physical decency. The fact that many rules of good manners are originally based on practical reasons rather than on moral reasons is much overlooked.

It does work wonders. I sort of found it out myself, though I got the idea from a recipe by Claude Peyrot. Basically it was rice cooked with lardons, onions, bay leaf, sultanas and pine nuts. He used that to stuff a Guinea fowl. I found that it gave the best results with Thai jasmine rice, but I also identified the element that really made the difference: it was the bay leaf. Streamlining the recipe to that single element, I realized it was a great idea.

I live relatively close to that restaurant and as I was passing by last night, after having had couscous at a completely different place, I saw a waiter who was about to lift a large seafood platter from the oyster counter. I decided to ask him before he took the platter inside the restaurant. As is usually the case in restaurants, he was very nice and helpful about it. I didn't eat at the place. Bay leaf in rice is magic. I'm glad you have the trick now. Let us know about the results!

Hello, I'm back with news straight from the horse's mouth. The horse being in this case a waiter from Le Bar à Huîtres Saint-Germain. He very kindly told me it was just plain white rice cooked with bay leaf and thyme. He added that if you want it to be even tastier, you should add a bit of saffron. Voilà! Now if you want my advice as a chef, I always cook rice with a bay leaf (absorption method, i.e. put rice in saucepan, add water up to twice the height of the rice layer, or a bit less if your lid is tight-fitting. Sometimes I add butter, sometimes not. Sometimes I use half a stock cube but the bay really makes it superflous since it gives the rice a touch of umami taste that it doesn't have naturally. Bay is there basically for the umami. The only extra ingredient in the Bar à Huîtres recipe seems to be the thyme, which will add a herby, aromatic taste.

I had two amazing meals at Chateaubriand, then one not so amazing. ← And I had a most unamazing lunch. ← Two amazing lunches, one nearly inedible.

To answer your question, horsemeat, though loved by some, is not acceptable enough to be served at restaurants. Don't be fooled by the word "bistrot" in its modern acception. They are restaurants like others. Places like Aux Zingots and Le Ribouldingue, though they try to maintain the mythology of the French bistrot, are no more "casual" than other places. It would be unthinkable to serve horsemeat there. It would probably have been possible a few decades ago. The traditional bistrot as we used to know it is definitely dead. As a matter of fact, if you showed me one bistrot that serves horse meat, I would conclude that the old days are not definitely over. As for gypsies and Kazakhs, it is interesting to note the importance of the horse in their cultures. Eating horse would be considered close to anthropophagy. Actually it is exactly in those terms that an Irish friend of mine, upon his very first visit to France, told me in horror: "I can't understand how you people can eat horses! A horse is human, for God's sake!" And though I have never been close to horses and do not worship them more than any other animal, I do share that feeling.

Turkey is okay and there is no historical taboo about it but, setting apart the farm-raised, organic-grain-fed, skin-off-the-buttocks-costly dindes fermières, it is considered mass-produced, cheap meat and that is why you will seldom find it on restaurant menus, except at cheap restaurants and in collective catering. Notwithstanding the fact that a properly roasted rôti de dindonneau can be a delicious thing indeed.

I cannot see how fusion did not start with cooking itself. Also, for the notion of fusion to exist, the notion of clearly defined national cuisines - as pure, whole, unalterated entities - has to exist first. It is by no means certain that this notion was existing or even important to anyone before a recent period. And personally I don't think this notion ever had any true meaning.

Also, quite a few people are naturally averse to horsemeat. Historically, it has never been easy for horse-eaters and horse butchers. First of all there were religious taboos from the early Middle Ages (horse-eating was associated with paganism) and the Catholic Church forbid horse eating rather constantly during French history. When the religious factor weakened, there was the commercial factor. Corporations and unions of butchers - who never sold horsemeat - fiercely fought the horse butchers, who were always clandestine (and performed their skills in very unhygienic environments like the Montfaucon dumps) and were said to treat horses very inhumanely before killing them. Note that horse butchers in France, even after becoming socially accepted, always had their own shops and that their trade never mingled with "mainstream" butchery. One should not forget, also, the noble status of the horse, which gives that animal a quasi-human aura, many people being reluctant to eat it. This state of mind is very ancient and has been permanent for centuries, and now that horse power is no longer important it is still very strong. Furthermore, given the clandestine status of horse butchery and exceptional nature of horse eating in France, horse eating was always associated with emergency (as well as being considered poor people's food). Horses were butchered in days of war and in besieged cities, like the 1870 war when Parisians of all classes ate rats, cats, dogs, giraffes and elephants from zoos, and horses. That memory was always associated with horse meat, making it less acceptable. In the 19th century, though, a group of influent physicians called "Hygienists" recommended the consumption of horse meat for health reasons, provided that the horse butchers had an official status and a structured activity. Hence the creation of "boucheries hippophagiques". But for a long time those shops were marginal and the status of hippophagic butchers was always difficult. The hygienists insisted on the wholesome qualities of horsemeat, and also claimed that it was free of parasites: for a few generations horsemeat became more widely consumed in France. It was relatively successful during the most part of the 20th century, given to sick people and children, presented as steak tartare (the original version of the dish) or grilled steak haché, and people who frowned upon it were frowned upon because "it's so good for you". Horsemeat became some sort of special, virtuous meat. Still many people did not want any, either through cultural conditionment or through real disgust. In the 1950s, and later in the 60s and 70s, it was discovered that horsemeat was not free of parasites (like trichinosis). So its healthy status suffered. By then many shops had already disappeared. During the last quarter of the 20th century, boucheries hippophagiques (also called "boucheries chevalines") disappeared almost completely. A few remain in some popular areas, provincial towns, street markets. You still can find horsemeat at some supermarkets. On one hand there are pressure groups against hippophagy, with the slogan "A horse is not for eating". On the other hands a portion of the population still craves horsemeat, but I've also met many people (I'm one of them) who won't touch it. All that makes it a bit tricky to let it appear on restaurant menus. This reluctance never applied to bunnies or bambis. Contrary to the US, cuteness is not an issue when it comes to eating creatures. But the noble status of the horse and a rather complicated history always made it hard to accept it as a "normal" meat.

Well at least it is better to try not to leave the table until the cheese course or dessert, though there is no real obligation. But — how do you notice that kind of thing?

That pretty much sums up the whole book. One of the most surreal readings I ever had. Fortunately, it was translated into French for the object of the study to enjoy. I hope they didn't expurgate that part. It would have been a pity to spare French readers the mental image of Polly's male acquaintances peeing all over the streets (which is far beyond what you call bad manners) for fear of breaking a taboo that doesn't exist. And there's also the hilarious "late night orange juice" which I won't recall here. After reading the book, I thought there should be a label on such acculturation handbooks, reading "Approved by a team of locals from all social levels who do not spend all their time with prank-loving members of the haute bourgeoisie."

I'm glad you're aware of that, but that is not what I wrote about. The point was your misrepresentation of French chefs. But now I think the demonstration is done and it would be charitable to leave you alone.

You were trying to make a point about France and you used the example of Ramsay and the English public to prove it. So if this is not generalization about countries, what is it? As for the ratings, I think you should consider the dynamics of modern media and trash TV without distinction of country and origin before you decide Ramsay's success could only be a British thing and not a French thing. There are TV chef shows in France too. And, may I add, this is only one chef show. Of course they are highly respected, nobody said they weren't. Respected just the way they are. This only confirms what I wrote and now you're shifting the subject.

Dear kiwichef, As I wrote, I suspect you haven't much of an experience of the French food scene — present and past — and that you may be building your assertions on partial knowledge. For one Gordon Ramsay who gets away with such language, oh well — I'll grant you a couple others bratty insular chefs too; how many courteous and decent chefs in the UK? Hundreds? Thousands? So please don't make it a British general rule. By the way you seem to imply that the British actually enjoy brutality and foul language to the point of considering them normal features in a chef? I think it is a strange idea but I'll let you have it. And this idea of "etiquette in a french kitchen" sounds no less strange and I'm sorry if I'm about to shatter some illusions here. Though there are many courteous and polite French chefs, those who happen to be less courteous are not exactly inhibited in public, and the public is more or less used to that — at worst indifferent, at best amused. Years ago, when Jacques Maximin was at the Negresco, he once appeared in the dining room saying out loud to an old lady who hadn't enjoyed the meal: "So Madame didn't like it? Well, madame, je m'en bats les couilles !" Not an isolated example, in a way that's how we like our chefs (in small doses though).

I don't think ordinary croissants are made with lard, though. I'm pretty sure they're made with vegetable shortening.

A question with nuanced answers. "Bon appétit" is often heard at table (most frequently at restaurants), from one of the diners, and the others repeat it or just nod. It is a friendly instant. You hear it much more often at small tables than at large ones. At a more or less formal dinner party, you never hear it, because in that case the rule is that nobody touches their plate until the lady of the house has touched hers. Then people start eating without any word added. However, what waiters tell you before you start eating, "bon appétit" or "bonne continuation" or anything else, has nothing to do with manners, only with the way the waiters have been trained by the restaurant owner. You can hear the most diverse things. In Brest there is a fish restaurant I will keep secret, where they serve you day-old langoustines while live ones swim in the tanks, and all the waiters wear blue-and-white striped t-shirts, and after bringing you the plates they tell you: "have a safe crossing". In fact I don't think she was perfectly honest. Of course you ask to use the bathroom when you need it. But it has to be done as discreetly as possible. Or perhaps she meant, diplomatically (much likelier), that you never ASK for it. You just look for it.

No, and that would be barbaric.

Cool, another one of those articles that makes you keep wondering where they got their info! It's been a long time. That's right, you say "bon app'". The NYT must have used sources from 150 years ago. This one at least has some truth to it. Though there is no obligation, it's always a nice touch if the man pours the wine for the woman, and that tradition is still respected because it is part of the ever-present seduction game (which goes on even when there is no real seduction involved). I suppose the origin (with manners, it often leads to the same one) was that, in brothels, drinks were poured to the clients by the prostitutes. So a proper lady should be served, she should not serve. Right on spot; you comment on it straight from the beginning. (Seriously: this one is from the days when meals were cooked by servants only. You were not supposed to praise them.) I sort of thought they did, but as usual the NYT knows better.

I recommend Philippe Delacourcelle's three books: Ma cuisine à fleur d'épices (Solar), Cuisines et Influences (Viénot) and Le Gibier en cuisine (Minerva). Original recipes from this Loire-born chef with a solid training in French cuisine (he worked with Loiseau) and a long experience of Asian spices and ingredients. Philippe, by the way, is chef of Le Pré Verre (Paris). All the recipes are simple and easy, stylish and fragrant. They can easily be considered everyday recipes. It's modern, un-self-conscious cooking with an Asian twist, more in the ingredients than in the preparations, which remain classically French. And if you can find anything by Paulette Buteux or Louisette Bertholle (only as used books), go for it. I haven't seriously checked into my favorite French cookbooks but I'll come up with something.

I thought I had made myself clear on that one. I was addressing that to kiwichef. Sorry if I didn't make myself clear. ← Ah, OK. Sorry!