Things What I Think #2 – French Supermarkets.

by Daniel Drumm

Being in France, I am reminded of something that has always niggled at me about this country. Worry not, I don’t speak of the tired, old, ignorant, and frankly¹, – in this, the age of tolerance – irritating criticisms of the French, (ones which you would normally find parting ways with the lips of a 50 year-old fascist taxi driver or a Top Gear presenter²) no! I’m talking about an issue I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone else mention (which is odd to me as I find it fairly obvious and intrusive), and one which does actually highlight some quite profound underlying points about French vs. English culture.  The subject: French supermarkets. The point: they smell.

1. Interestingly, “frankly” is actually derived from the French word “franc” meaning “free”, as in to speak freely. That felt on topic…

2. “Them frogs; I hate em! They’re all adulterous, homosexual, garlic carrying, béret wearing, horse eating, cheese muching, smelly, hairy, surrender monkeys!”. At least that’s what I assume they’re trying to say, it can be hard to tell through all the bad teeth, flab, and Northerness. I wonder if being that conceited and ignorant is actually fun. Wait what I am I talking about?! I am and I enjoy it…

When you enter a French supermarket I find you are encountered by a pungent, unmistakeable odour. It’s the kind of smell that, if you encountered it your kitchen at home, it would be like the bin was saying to “okay look, you’ve ignored me for three days now; it really is time to take me out”³, before he proceeds to piss all over your slippers just as you cross the threshold of the front door with him. I personally enjoy French supermarkets because I find that they are the only busy, indoor, public place where you can fart and nobody notices. But once I’m done “couper le fromage” another thought crosses my mind; another place where I can remember coming across this smell, a place to which I think, at my age, I am in one of the last generations of people who will be able to recall regular visits.

3. I’m obviously personifying the bin; my bin doesn’t actually talk…though I can’t help but think that would be cool for some reason…

The grocer’s⁴. Remember them? They were vendors of fresh fruit and vegetables before they were all but obliterated by large chain supermarkets⁵. They used to smell similar. And there’s the point. French supermarkets don’t smell bad because there is anything wrong with them. They smell that way, as does the grocer’s⁶, because THAT’S HOW FRESH PRODUCE IS SUPPOSED SMELL!

4. I’m told that the correct spelling of grocer’s is a point of contention for apostrophe pedants (or apostrophiles as I like to call them); is it a grocers, a grocers’ or a grocer’s? Is it any one of them, or does it depend on circumstances? A grocer’s is a grocery shop owned by one grocer, while a grocers’ is one owned two. Grocers is one grocer standing next to another grocer thus pluralising the term. I think more light could be shed if I – or anyone for that matter – knew what the practice of “grocing” actually was. Or is it a groce as a noun that gives rise to the term? Whatever that is… Personally I think that the whole debate is far less interesting than coming up with unusual ways to murder apostrophe pedants…or wanking…

5. I’m not jumping on the “down with corporations” band-wagon. I find such views as pretentious as the next man. I’m of the opinion that commerce is as fluid a system as nature. It’s an environment that is constantly changing and, as in nature, it’s survival of the fittest; adapt or die out. I’m not saying it’s easy to change in the wake of such swift and monumental changes, but to deny the world’s development because you want your small business to remain financially stable without upping your game, doesn’t scream good sense to me.

6. This particular one is owned by one guy okay! Jeeese…

 Once fruit or vegetables are farmed they are cut off from their “life support”, and when that happens, surprise surprise, they start to decay. That’s how life work! Or rather that’s how life works when life ISN’T put into a chemical preservative induced stasis. When that happens: YAY! Ignorant English people aren’t put off major stores because they smell a bit and YAY! Produce can be farmed wherever’s cheapest and transported vast distances (which has it’s own issues) and YAY! The health and integrity of the UK takes another one in the ass for the team! And do we care? Nooooo…

Therein is the difference between the French and us. They give a fuck about food; we do not! While we were busy finding ways to make the journey from tree to gob as short as possible (ruining local business, and severely compromising on quality in the process), they were finding ways of incorporating local and regional farms into their large chain super-markets and enjoying awesome food. While we were busy holding focus groups to determine how much like a cock a courgette has to look before it upsets your nan, (and subsequently disposing of thousands of tonnes of perfectly good⁷ produce every year) they were busy not caring, eating awesome food, AND no doubt having a good giggle⁸ every time a cockumber came home with the shopping. Gourmet is a French word for a reason!

7. Albeit unmistakably phallic…

8. “Haw he haw he haw”…?

Once said, this kind of talk inevitably evokes the predictable reaction from “Mr. Proud Englishman”. “We know fine dining” or “Our food is just as good”. It ain’t. Theirs a whole other level of effort and precision, and if you entertain any thoughts otherwise then you’re ill informed.

Evidence? Well let’s compare some traditional dishes of the two cultures:

A potato dish:

• French – Dauphinoir Potatoes – Thinly, precisely cut slices of potato placed in layers with garlic, butter, herbs and cream between them.
• English – Mashed Potatoes – Potatoes, mashed. To prepare, have a fight with some boiled potatoes and win.

A Vegetable side:

• French – Ratatouille – A vegetable stew made from tomatoes, garlic, onions, courgettes, aubergines, bell peppers, carrot, majoram and basil; a recipe refined for hundreds of years and used as a vegetable side dish for many meals.
• English – A side of veg – Boiled vegetables. To prepare, fling on the plate.

There’s really nothing in it! They prepare food like it’s art or making love to a woman; we prepare food like we haven’t developed since we were still impressed with flint, and were dragging our women by their hair.

Not convinced? Okay then, I took a quick stroll around a typical French Hypermarché…

This is how big it’s freezer section is…

…and this is the single freezer containing what I would term “Iceland shit”; chicken drumsticks, fish fingers etc.

This is the alcohol aisle where I failed to find a single drop of anything really obviously designed for tramps to get shitfaced on the cheap.

This is a bunch of deformed but perfectly edible bell peppers.

This is all the fresh meat and vegetables, mostly local.

I mean for fucks sake, this is what their tinned food looks like!

And on top of all this, it’s CHEAP! Compelling isn’t it?

I find it ultimately very unfortunate that, as I’m a student and can’t afford the time, or the money to go to butchers shops and the grocer’s every week, there’s not a lot I CAN do to emulate that fine countries attitude to food. That can’t happen until bigger decisions happen higher up, to take a leaf out of the French book. Which, for the many reasons outlined herein, they won’t. Sad.