Bread, bacon and beans: British food habits on trial in France

French taxi drivers are not normally chatty. Not like cabbies in the UK who very often talk the hind legs off a whole herd of donkeys. 

However, the exception proves the rule and Jean-Christophe had lots to say, especially about the English in the area.

"Why do they come here? What do they want? Why do they not speak French? Why English television? Why English bread? This is France!"

I could not really defend the not-speaking-French thing, my personal opinion being that producing even a few imperfect words in French is a step in the right direction.

"I have clients; they speak in English and they say I should speak English because it is the universal language! Mais merde! What have they in their heads?"

It is pretty shocking that anyone should expect a French person living in France to speak English. 

I mean, does every taxi driver and shop assistant in the UK speak French?

"And this English food!” he continued. “I see them queuing to get deliveries from the lorry. English bread! Delivered to La Belle France! Land of the Baguette! Mais zut! Are they mad?"

Again, I had to agree. Freshly baked bread from any country in the world is pretty good, but wrapped sliced bread is not really food. I don't understand why anyone would order it when the boulangerie next door is selling fresh bread. 

"You're so right," I said. "But I think there is less UK food in France now, after Brexit." 

I was guiltily thinking of UK sausages, which used to be sold in the local Intermarché but disappeared a couple of years ago. 

"Breakfast, perhaps it's breakfast. Bacon, sausages, beans, the Big Six..."

"What?"

I explained that the six could be chosen from a larger menu, and mentioned that in extraordinary circumstances (ie. after pulling an all-nighter, or when the in-laws are staying) the Big Six could be expanded to a Big Nine or more – and he just shuddered eloquently. 

"Café-croissant!" he murmured.

Hmmm... recently, while on a trip to Alsace, I had the pleasure of breakfasting with large numbers of French people at a series of very nice hotels. 

The buffets had all the French breads and Viennoiseries in the world, along with good coffee, but they also had cereal, fruit, yoghurt and a mouth-watering row of dishes containing bacon, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, rostis, and once even some fried courgettes (is that a thing?) 

My point is that the French guests were just as keen as everyone else to get these hot delights onto their plates. 

The chefs had to keep replenishing them. Especially the bacon. There were differences, of course. 

No ketchup. And no proper marmalade. Orange jam made an occasional appearance, but no dark bitter stuff made from Seville oranges.

"You eat this terrible Beeg Seeks?"

"No."

"So you only eat the French food?"

That was when I had to confess to my hopeless addiction, and my secret stash of specially-imported Frank Cooper's Original Oxford Coarse Cut marmalade.