During one of my trips to Paris, I found myself seated at a charming brasserie along the city’s vibrant cobblestone streets. The kind of place where locals patiently sip on their café au lait, while smoking a cigarette and observing the hundreds of passersby – and tourists like me trying so unbelievably hard to blend in, hoping to immerse myself in French culture. I was committed to embracing the complete Parisian experience, which meant stepping outside my culinary habits. So, when I spotted escargots in parsley-garlic butter on the menu, I decided it was time to be brave.
The dish arrived, sooner than I had hoped. But in all honesty, I wasn’t sure I wanted it to arrive at all. Each snail seemed to be staring at me from its gleaming gray shell, swimming in an ocean of garlicky butter that no longer seemed quite as delectable. I hesitated for a second, but in my commitment to immersion, I took the plunge. As I carefully lifted the first escargot to my lips, I tried my best not to overthink it. The garlic was pungent, the texture unforeseen, and my stomach not-so-quietly churned. Still, I persevered, knowing I’d kick myself if I gave up.
Minutes later, the waiter returned with a weary smile. He leaned in slightly and asked, “Alors, vous aimez?” (So, do you like it?)
My mouth twitched, as I attempted to muster a smile, masking the turmoil growing within me, and politely nodded. But just as I thought I had masterfully concealed my discomfort, the waiter’s face completely changed, and in all seriousness, he said, “Allons, il faut appeler un chat un chat.” (“Come on, you have to call a cat a cat.”) He caught me red-handed.
That moment captured the essence of French culture in a way that simply sitting in a brasserie people-watching could never. The French have a remarkable power to cut through the “BS” and say exactly what’s on their mind. “Appeler un chat un chat” perfectly embodies their directness. In France, sugar-coating is not an option. Whether it’s in casual conversation, restaurant reviews, or even when giving advice, the French tend to value honesty—sometimes to a point that can feel rude to outsiders.
In my two-minute interaction with the waiter, I understood that this cultural trait goes deeper than just language—it’s about authenticity. There’s a certain appreciation for being straightforward, even if it might be awkward in the moment. The French value the truth over deceitful politeness when it comes to everyday interactions. It’s a kind of bluntness that, once you get past the initial slap in the face, can be refreshingly liberating.
As I sat there, with the waiter’s unimpressed smile still lingering, I found myself appreciating French culture even more. Though it may sometimes appear out of nowhere, there’s a certain allure in calling things as they are—in “appeler un chat un chat.”