Unique In France

Occasionally, just occasionally I realize that I am unique in France. Is it because I fervently support Glasgow Rangers football team? Well probably not, because the owner of that great team actually has a house not too far away in Antibes, so on certain Saturdays when they’re playing and he has decided to forsake the freezing, pouring rain of Glasgow for the great weather of the Côte D’Azur, I’m almost certainly not alone in screaming, ‘stick it in the ******* net, you ******* ******.’

Is it because I like my steaks ‘bien cuit’ (well done)? Probably not. There's loads of 'heathens' like me who prefer not to have their plate swimming in the blood of the animal they're eating. Is it because I go berserk when I get awful service at the checkout in supermarkets and simply storm off leaving them to stick my €200 worth of groceries back on the shelves? I cannot believe so – poor service is so ubiquitous in France that there must be other fed-up, impatient Anglos like me.

Nope – every now and again I know with absolute certainty that I am UNIQUE in France and it does have something to do with ‘food’ although the French might dispute that.

So when I have Cheddar cheese and pickled onions for a snack – is anybody else in the whole of France doing the same? Unlikely, but possibly. When I make Scottish mince with onions and carrots (not chile – pleeeeease) and serve it with turnips and mashed potatoes, is anybody else eating as grandly? Maybe the Rangers guy down in Antibes so that might not be a unique meal.

But the other evening I reckon I was totally and unequivocally unique in France – no question about it.

At lunchtime, I’d taken J and Guy for lunch in town and we’d all had quite a bit to eat but that doesn’t mean that when it comes to 9 o’clock in the evening we don’t need something else. The kids were so hungry they were actually eating out of the cat’s bowl (sardines in case you’re wondering) when I noticed the time and asked J if she was making anything for dinner but of course, the answer was a resounding, ‘No. I’m too busy, I’m looking at the Marks and Spencer website’.

At that, the kids delved into the cupboards and started opening cans of baked beans and sticking bread in the toaster, but if you’re thinking Beans on Toast is the unique food in France, think again.

Nope – that distinction goes to me. With no baked beans left and only a packet of crisps visible (chips for any French reading this – some hope !!), I made myself – wait for it – wait for it – I made a crisp sandwich. There – was anybody else in France eating a crisp sandwich tonight? I bet they weren’t.

I’ve always known I was unique and that night I was. And now you know the relevance of the picture at the start of this posting.