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Amuse-Bouche -- Explaining French to Americans

a sporadic column on the perils of learning French

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Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts

Sunday, October 17, 2010


Amuse-Bouche No. 3: Twelve Ways to Toss a Salad

by Julia Frey

From oysters to eggplants, French is stuffed with food metaphors...

The other night at dinner, Philippe was discussing food. Not surprising. After all, France is a country with four religions and 400 sauces. (The United States, Philippe opines, has four sauces and 400 religions.) Specifically, the pervasiveness of food imagery in French speech. I recounted confronting my first major food metaphor. “T’as les portuguaises ensablées, ou quoi ? ” a fellow student said. Clueless, I attempted direct translation (Are your female Portuguese full of sand or what?), then intelligently responded, “Quoi ? ”

He explained elaborately. Roman policier (detective novel) writer Frédéric Dard, who single-handedly souped up French with more argot than anyone before or since, was a big foodie. Not surprising. Dard, who wrote under the pseudonym San-Antonio, liked to cook up ambiguously edible titles for his books, like Tarte à la Crème Story (1980), Sauce Tomate sur Canapé (1994) and the inimitable La Rate au Court-bouillon (approximately, “Spleen in the Soup,” 1965). Another one, Du Poulet au Menu(1958), sounds like KFC until you know that poulet (chicken) also means cop.

In Ne Mangez Pas la Consigne (“Don’t Eat the Orders,” or alternatively, “Don’t Eat the Baggage Room,” 1961), San-Antonio invented the notorious phrase about the Portuguese. Which are not Portuguese women but edible oysters known as portuguaises and, by extension, human ears. How come? Because ears reminded him of oyster shells. Why full of sand? Because a dead oyster is full of sand. Also, if you’ve got sand in your ears, you can’t hear anything. “T’as les portuguaises ensablées, ou quoi ? ” means “Are you deaf or what?” These days, there’s a rock group named Les Portuguaises Ensablées, and the Dictionnaire Grand Robert lists “portuguaises” as a synonym for ears!

But not all food metaphors in French are complicated. Some are obvious. My favorite is pédaler dans le yaourt / la choucroute / la semoule, as in “ You must get organized. Stop pedaling in (choose one) yogurt / sauerkraut / polenta.” Not to be confused with “Il patauge dans la mélasse” (He’s paddling in molasses), roughly translatable as “He’s in deep doo-doo.”

As we turned to our salad, Philippe remarked that there are 12 ways to toss salad in French, including tourner (turn), touiller (stir) and fatiguer (to fatigue, exhaust or worry, as a dog worries a bone). There’s also remuer, mélanger, saucer, secouer, assaisonner, accommoder, apprêter, relever and I forget. The word salade itself has at least six meanings meanings outside its culinary context. In San-Antonio’s La Vérité en Salade (“The Truth as a Salad” 1958), it is a veritable layer-cake of innuendo:
—Confusion, disorder: Il a fait une salade indescriptible (He messed everything up). See also, Quelle mélasse !
—Lies: Arrête tes salades ! (Stop lying!), but in the singular: Arrête ta salade ! (Stop whining!).
—Making a big deal out of nothing: Elle en a fait toute une salade (She made a big stink about it).
—Quarrel, as in Il me cherche une salade: He’s trying to pick a fight with me. Short form: Il me cherche.
—Unclear or dishonest situation, as in Quelle salade que la politique ! (Politics is a dirty business).
Later, when the detective caught his man, the poulets carted him off in a panier à salade (paddy-wagon) !

We ran into one last food metaphor that night. Standing by Philippe’s car was a woman, writing. Une aubergine lui collait un papillon (an eggplant was gluing a butterfly on him). Quoi ? A meter maid was giving him a ticket! Back in 1977-78, the Paris police department decided those ladies who leave parking tickets fluttering (hence papillon) under your windshield wipers should wear fashionable maroon uniforms with high, rounded caps. Within minutes, someone nicknamed them aubergines. The maligned uniforms have since been replaced with blue suits, but the name stuck. You guessed it: the Robert now lists “aubergine” as “auxiliaire de la police française” !

© Julia Frey, 2009

Julia Frey is a writer best known for her biography of an artist who also loved to cook: Toulouse-Lautrec, a Life (Phoenix Giants, London, 2006, available on Amazon.com).

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Amuse-Bouche No. 17: My Little Cabbage, If you learn only one word in French, make it chou.

Amuse-Bouche No. 17: My Little Cabbage

by Julia Frey
(julia.frey@aya.yale.edu)

If you learn only one word in French, make it chou.

Sunday night, coming back from the country, everyone’s starving.

Philippe: “Venez donc chez nous, manger à la fortune du pot (Come to our house and eat potluck). Nous avons de la soupe aux choux (cabbage soup).”

Bénédicte, our local food expert, steps in: “For centuries, la soupe aux choux (plural, because it could contain several kinds of cabbage) was staple peasant fare in France. If you were lucky, you had a little gras (fat ham or bacon) to put in it.”

Isabelle, banging on the table: “Vouiii ! (Yesss!) De la soupe ! J’ai une faim de loup (I’m hungry as a wolf) !”

François-Noël, our local Christmas expert, intones a children’s carol:

“Melchior et Balthazar
et le roi Gaspar,
affamés comme des loups...
Ils mangèrent de la soupe, de la bonne soupe aux choux.’’


Even the three wise men, when famished, ate cabbage soup! While the soup heats, we sip an apéritif and ruminate on l’humble chou with its multiple, contradictory, metaphoric meanings.

Béné: “When mes parents married, on the morning after, they were served une soupe aux choux, aide traditionelle à la conception. It must work. I’m their fifth enfant à naître dans un chou (cabbage patch kid). I know in the US, la cigogne (the stork) brings you. But in France, it drops you into a cabbage. Actually, to be precise, it only delivers les garçons (boys) in a cabbage. It serves up les filles in a rosebud.”

Phil: “Béné, mon chou (cream-puff, i.e., sweetie-pie), is that why your father called you un adorable petit bout de chou (little tiny cabbage) ?”

Isa surenchère (ups the ante, puts in her two cents’ worth): “Ben, you were si chou (so cute) wearing choux (puffy ribbon bows) on the ends of your pigtails. No wonder you were la chouchoute (favorite) de Papa.

Ben: “Maman was too fatiguée to chouchouter (spoil) anyone.”

François-Noël: “Voila des expressions hypocoristiques ! ”

Moi: “Aha! Linguistic one-upmanship!” I get out the Dictionnaire Grand Robert, volume H, and summarize. “ Hypocoristique: this obscure adjective describes a kind of affectionate ”baby-talk” by adults: using diminutives, or doubling syllables, as inchouchou”.

Flip (or is that Phlip?): “Chouette alors ! ”

Moi: “Attends ! (wait a minute!) Chouette is not the diminutive of chou. Une chouette is a screech owl!”

F-N: “But chouette and chou can be used the same way: t’es chou / chouette ( nice, charming, sympa’, délicieux, chic). The poet Rabelais invented the compliment ‘jolie comme une belle petite chouette.’ ”

Moi: “Pretty as a beautiful little screech owl? Well, I guess a crying baby is comparable to a screech owl.”

The game is on. We dig up expressions with chou.

Béné ( inventing a “Dupont” joke): “I hear Dupont was envoyé planter ses choux (fired.) Too bad. He expected to stay until he was ready to aller planter ses choux (retire).”

Planter ses choux means retourner à ses affaires privées. The difference is between envoyer (to send off, in this case from his position) and aller (to go willingly). La vie n’est pas toujours un lit de roses (life can be a bed of cabbages).

Moi: (riposte):“Well, at least they didn’t lui rentrer dans le chou (physically attack him).”

Here chou (singular) refers to a rounded, kickable body part -- head or derrière.

Ben: “But he was still dans les choux (in a bad place) !”

The original expression, “finir dans les choux,” comes from horse racing. Early racetracks were grassy ovals, surrounded by farmers’ fields. If a horse ran off the track, it could end up literally in the cabbages. There are some wonderful idiomatic synonyms for dans les choux, meaning messed up, out of it, mentally disoriented: hors course (off track, out of the race), à côté de ses pompes, de ses baskets (literally: beside his pumps, his hi-tops; implicit: he’s so off track he’s walking alongside his shoes).

Isa: “Now he writes for une feuille de chou (a cabbage leaf -- a tabloid).”

Béné: “Wait! I’m running out of material.” She gets volume C of the Grand Robert. “OK, voilà l’histoire ! Dupont avait fait chou blanc (had failed) in banking. When they offered him a journalism job, he thought: Ils me prennent le chou (they’re playing head games with me, wasting my time). Je m’y entends comme à ramer des choux (I know as much about journalism as I know about staking cabbages)."

Isa: “You stake tomates, not cabbages! Notre grand’mère, la vieille chouette (old hag) would call you bête comme chou (stupid as a cabbage)!”

Bénédicte: “Chut ! (Shh!) It’s my story. So how could he ménager la chèvre et le chou ?
He asked for a trial run on the rag, and discovered it’s bête comme chou. Now Dupont fait ses choux gras dans la presse à sensation.”

Moi (overwhelmed): "Quoi ?"

Bénédicte (patiently): “Voilà. To reconcile both goat and cabbage means to hold open contradictory options, be streetwise, play it cool. The English parallel is ‘run with the hare and hunt with the hounds.’ An idiotic person is bête comme chou, but athing that’s bête comme chou is easy as pie. Faire ses choux gras means to put fat in one’s cabbage, to make a quick buck. But le chou-gras (lamb’s quarters, chenopodium) is not a cabbage at all. It’s a spinach-like weed, mostly eaten by the very poor. Take the expression, jeter ses choux-gras, to be a spendthrift. Only a rich person would toss les choux-gras. The poor would eat them. Oh, yeah, and la presse à sensation means yellow journalism.”

François-Noël, slurring his voice: “Un chou est un chou.”

He’s corrupting "un sou est un sou" (a penny is a penny) an expression attributed to Auvergnats, who like my Scottish ancestors, have a reputation for penny pinching.

Isa: “This is making me even hungrier! Where’s la soupe!

Phil: “ Soup’s on! ( À table ! )”

Isabelle: (holding out her bowl): “Juste un soupçon (just a whisper, i.e. a little bit).”

Philippe (ladle in hand): “Juste un chouïa (from North African Arabic: un peu) ? ”


© Julia Frey 2009