French Kids Eat Everything by Karen Le Billon Read Free Book Online

“ restaurant scolaire ” (school restaurant) sums it up perfectly.
    Philippe and Janine scanned the menu, clucking cheerfully at their favorites. But the list struck me as ludicrous. Beets? Fresh fish? This sounded like a meal in a Michelin-starred restaurant, not food for five-year-olds. And certainly not for my five-year-old.
    â€œUm,” I said hesitantly, “something seems to be missing. There’s only one choice every day.” I was thinking of school cafeterias back home, where kids always had a choice, although one that was often admittedly dubious from a nutritional perspective: between strawberry and chocolate milk, for example, or between pizza and hot dogs.
    â€œEveryone eats the same thing, bien sûr !” replied my husband. I had already learned that the phrase bien sûr (“of course”) usually implied I had unknowingly committed some kind of social blunder about something that seemed blindingly obvious to the French.
    â€œBut what if the kids don’t like what’s being served that day?” I asked. This question gave rise to odd looks from the parents shepherding their children through the school doors.
    â€œThey go hungry!” Janine replied, looking impatient.
    A story from Tra la lire (France’s most popular magazine for preschoolers) popped into my head. In the story “La journée du NON!” (The Day of Saying NO!), cheeky little Michel is having a “NO” day. He says “NO” to getting dressed and goes to school in pajamas. He says “NO” to eating lunch at the cafeteria (radishes, sausages, mashed potatoes, and ice cream) and then goes hungry all afternoon. Michel feels sad, but his little friends (who ate all of their lunch) don’t feel sorry for him, and neither do his parents. When I had first read this story, I had dismissed it as cruel and unbelievable. But I now realized with a sinking feeling that the French didn’t see it that way.
    â€œBut this is ridiculous,” I snapped. “Sophie only likes pasta for lunch. She’ll be starving!” This was true. Despite my best efforts, Sophie refused to eat anything but pasta at lunchtime. And it had to be made in precisely the same way: with olive oil (definitely not butter) and liberally sprinkled with Parmesan cheese. The fact that the local grocery store did not carry Parmesan had not deterred me from continuing to make Sophie’s favorite dish once we arrived in France. I was proud of my small triumph in charming the initially gruff grocer into placing a special order for “Sophie’s cheese.”
    â€œSchool is about learning lots of things, including how to eat what is put in front of you,” replied Janine. (Note to self: Next time, don’t invite mother-in-law along for first day of school). I was cornered. The problem was that my husband and I had agreed that Sophie should eat lunch at school. This idea had originated with Janine. “Eating is central to French culture,” she declared soon after we arrived. “And Sophie will not make friends unless she stays to eat at the cantine .” So we had signed her up to eat meals there every day. At the time, it had sounded like a good idea. We had talked to Sophie about the cantine , and played it up: think of all the fun you’ll have with your new friends! Now I was having second thoughts. But it was too late to back down.
    We walked down the hallway to Sophie’s classroom, where her teacher stood at the door welcoming the students. There was a long line, which moved slowly. As we got closer to the front of the line, I found out why. We watched as each child eagerly approached the teacher to be kissed on each cheek. Some of the parents kissed the teacher as well, whereas others shook her hand. This was accompanied by pleasantries about the summer holidays. After a few minutes, the child moved into the classroom and the parents gracefully retreated.
    This