Here is my father’s breakfast:
– Toast slathered in I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter “butter”
– A side of Egg Beaters
– Coffee with Vanilla-flavoured Coffee Mate and Sweet-and-Low
– Sweetened granola with non-fat milk
Like many Americans suffering from high cholesterol and diabetes my dad has committed himself to these repasts of substitutes – tricksters all whose song and dance routine on the plate and in the mug and bowl entertains his unshakable belief in their benefits. Look at the Disneyesque shade of yellow coating the bottle of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter “butter.”
Ever encountered this color in nature? Unfortunately I didn’t have a mustard or colza field nearby to make a neat comparison, but even against this backdrop of verdant ferns, the product’s faux buttercup yellow is both out of place and weirdly triumphant. The manufacturer (Unilever, I believe) makes its point clearly: its fake butter product is as Beyond Nature as its plastic packaging, so much so that it inspires wonder or at least momentary surprise (ie “I can’t believe it’s not…). In other words it supersedes the Real Thing. Nature’s offerings feed our pathologies while these proxies protect us from disease. They are not food so much as prophylactics and they are the “healthier” choice, according to the puff on the squeeze bottle. Science says, “Eat not of the Egg nor of the fat of the cream — if thou art cholesteroled.” And the science-fearing obey.
I am convinced that the egg, that protein rich conundrum, gets the bum rap and that milk fat, too, has its place in our diet. The mythology of fake food certainly benefits large corporations like Nabisco and Unilever, but can the Substitute, laden as it is with “flavourings” and dubious additives, actually be good for us?
During our stay in California this summer my son and I underwent some peptic trials adjusting to American food. Though we mostly ate organic produce from the San Joaquin Valley, processed food nevertheless snuck into our meals in some form or another, often by way of store-bought seasonings, marinades and dressings. Stealth is the operative word: the “plain” instant organic oatmeal in the cupboard actually had sugar (albeit brown) added to it and the ready-made salads and sandwiches we picked up one day at Whole Foods were unreasonably spiced with hot pepper and overly salted (Does fresh taboulé salad really need jalapeño?). It’s as if there is a generalized mistrust of food in its natural, unadulterated form, which, I suppose is only logical since so much of our farm fresh fare, we are told, contributes to diseases.
In France our diet is simple and we never buy ready-made meals, frozen or otherwise, and though the option is there – the ubiquitous frozen food chain Picard does a thriving business – there really is much less of it. Most of the ready meals in supermarket chains like Franprix or Monoprix don’t look appetizing and are easy to pass over. The French haven’t mastered the duplicitous art of pre-packaged meals – yet; and I pray to Saint Benedict, patron of healthy food, their maladroit attempts will continue fumbling and dropping the ball.
To ponder more deeply on differing eating practices in the U.S. and France, I’d like to turn this blog over to food anthropologist Christy Shields. Professor Shields is a lecturer at the American University of Paris and investigates questions of food, identity and cultural practices in France and the United States. I met Christy and her family at the Café Chéri(e) after the Saturday morning market on the Blvd de la Villette where we continue to convene weekly, sharing thoughts about food, politics, family, and so much else. I am grateful to Christy for her insights into French behaviour, paricularly in regard to food and invite her regularly to come speak to the Wells College students about the notion of terroir.
Photo of Christy Shields doing field work in the Jura
– Why are products like I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter absent in the French supermarket?
Christy Shields: I am not sure they are entirely absent. While of course “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter” is not there (How would one even translate this?), others are. There are numerous cholesterol fighting margarines on the shelves in French supermarkets, for example. But of course there is a lot less of that stuff in general. Indeed, when I say “numerous” margarines, I mean no more then ten on the market (and even then that number may be high), and in my small Parisian supermarket there are probably 2 or 3. When I speak to the French about their foods – something I am often brought to do for one study or another – there is still a general mistrust of these products, because a French person generally has a hard time defining them entirely as “food” when their main claims have to do with nutritional components and health. Food for the French, generally speaking, must always be about more than mere physical nourishment.
– What are the main differences in how French and Americans think about food?
Shields: Ouf!, as we say here in France, I’ll try to be brief since a complete answer to this question would take me several pages, if not a book (indeed I am currently writing a thesis on just this topic) ! Generally speaking, and once again we have to be careful with the general here because there are many clichés attached to food and eating in both countries…but, generally speaking, food and eating for Americans is often linked first and foremost to their health. Food is easily reduced to a nutritional component: breads are carbs, meat is protein, veggies are vitamins. Our bodies, within this logic, can easily be reduced to machines that intake these components and run well (if we intake correctly) and run poorly (if our intake is bad). Indeed, foods with added vitamins or those that are low in fat work well within this frame because they fit the way we generally see foods and our bodies (and of course, in turn, maintain this very representation). It follows then that we judge ourselves and others as to the “healthiness” of our choices. Health is of course here defined in largely nutritional, biomedical terms. Key terms within this logic then are personal responsibility and restriction. In France, generally speaking once again, food must be, by definition, about more than a single thing at once. It may be healthy but it should also be of a high quality, well cooked by someone we love, by preference attached to a particular, identifiable (French) place. When eating the food we may think about its health properties but also, in public at least, should be able to comment on its taste, and take time to appreciate this aspect, think about where it’s from and perhaps even, who made it and so forth. This description risks adding to a number of clichés Americans tend to carry about the French – it is a bit more complicated – but that is the general idea. Food is always about something more than mere nourishment and it should speak to and incite our appetites.
– Mealtime in France, particularly dinner amongst friends, follows a particular ritual. From an anthropologist’s perspective what is the function of this ritual? And what do you conclude from its absence? Like the hit-and run experience that typifies Americans à table?
Shields: The meal is key in France. And it is a “ritual” meal in the sense that it is in many ways obligatory, socially-prescribed, structured and full of additional symbolic objects, practices and words that add additional layers of meaning to the event. Most of all it is a social gathering and the individual here should not be stressed. Instead the emphasis in on the group. This doesn’t mean that every meal is just such a meal but it is certainly this kind of meal that remains the ideal and towards this kind of meal that the French aspire. Americans sometimes partake in just such a meal – Thanksgiving comes to mind – but it is not a daily ritual that is seen as central to the maintenance of the social fabric and thus the individual’s well-being, as I would venture to say it is in France.
– In one of your articles you tell the story of an American mother who packed a typical U.S.-style lunch (peanut butter and jelly sandwich plus snacks) for her son’s first day of school in France. When she went to pick him up in the afternoon, she was sternly admonished by the school for not feeding her son properly. I think this account strikes home with many of us American mothers in France. Could you comment?
Shields: Well, I actually use this example in an article (which you can read on-line at http://aof.revues.org/index6616.html) that tries to show how, in both French and American societies, we are brought to conform not only to a way of eating but to the ideas of right and wrong and good and bad that are attached to them (especially when we are mothers!). In the case cited above, this mother goes on to modify her son’s lunches in order to conform to the rules of good eating in France. As such, little by little her own ideas on this topic change. When she returns to the States she finds she has a hard time connecting to other people on this issue. Her own actions – preparing and sitting down to a complete meal in the French style – are either perceived as snobby or miraculous, and so she is left with a feeling of acute isolation and exile. One of the main points here is that food is both highly social and deeply individual at the same time. While we generally do not recognize it in American society – much of what we eat has actually very little to do with our individual tastes, though most of our choices are framed this way by ourselves and others. It has to do with representing ourselves to ourselves and to others. It has to do with fitting in or standing out. It has to do with finding a place within a group and shaping our own individual sense of self and completeness in turn. In other words, while we do exercise a lot of personal choice, our choices are very much framed by the society within which we live (which means that this notion of personal responsibility is a bit unfair at times because our choices are also shaped for us – not only by what is available at the supermarket but by the ideas that circulate as to what makes a good eater, citizen, son, mother…and what make a poor one).
Thank you, Christy! See you next week at the market.
A typical French fruit bag from the market. And below, the fruit back at home, in a bowl. The ritual of preparing the fruit bowl always reminds me of Katherine Mansfield’s remarkable story “Bliss”.