On pronunciation and the proper way to eat a brownie.

{I don’t know this kid, but I know she knows how to eat a brownie.}

Any of my fellow compatriots who (still) think the French don’t really like us should come to France and see for themselves. The French love America! They listen to our music, they eat under golden arches (admit it, Frenchies, you adore “MacDo”), they speak our language.

Maybe I should rephrase that. Sure, every French person speaks English nowadays, but they also adopt our words when speaking their own language.

I particularly like the food vocabulary that has become increasingly trendy lately. I first noticed it when my friend Hélène opened up her cookie shop in Dijon and I started hearing sentences like, “I’d like one chocolate chip cookies, please.” Apparently, all cookies are plural here. Hélène also sells oh-so-American muffins, which sounds something like “meuhfeens.” A new “American restaurant” just popped up in town. They feature “bayGUHLS” and propose “Looky Charm” cereal for dessert (quelle horreur!).

I’m getting reasonably good at understanding French, but when they use our words and pronounce them their way, it always throws me for a loop.

A couple days ago, a group of us was at the boulangerie grabbing some “sondweech” for a quick lunch. Victor ordered a “brohnie” for dessert and then asked me if I liked them. I had no idea what he was talking about.

“You know, a brohnie,” he said. “It’s American.”

“Oh! A brownie,” I said.

“Oh, A BROWNie,” Estelle teased, with spot-on American pronunciation. “You always say, ‘oh!’ whenever you recognize an American word.”

“Yea, because when I am listening to French all day, I guess my mind is constantly trying to translate, and then when it hears an American word — pronounced differently — it gets confused.”

We paid for our lunches and made our way back to school for a “pique-nique.”  When we had finished our “sondweech” and were moving on to dessert, Victor pulled out a spoon. I couldn’t help but giggle.

“You’re going to eat your brownie with a spoon?” I asked.

“Is that not the way I’m supposed to eat it?” Victor replied.

“Eat it however you want, but may I take a picture?”

{Clearly not the American way to eat a brownie)

Life in Images: Hospices de Beaune

I won’t go so far as to say it was a homework assignment. Suffice it to say that the annual charity auction at the Hospices de Beaune was understood to be a cultural supplement to our coursework. Basically, I had to go take part in the festivities.

The Hospices de Beaune used to be a hospital for the poor. As in, back in the 1400’s, when it was founded. Now it is a museum (and one of the most magnificent examples of French XV century architecture in Burgundy). The charity auction has been held annually since 1851, always on the third Sunday of November.

The Hospices’ eponymous domaine comprises 61 hectares (150 acres) of donated vineyard land, much of it classified Grand Cru and Premier Cru.

The prices – encouraged by carefully chosen hosts, like this year’s former first lady and ex-supermodel Carla Bruni-Sarkozy – are out of this world, even for Grand Cru. Carla sold the presidential cuvée (a 350 liter barrel) for 270,000 euros, for example.

Nicolas and I ran into more than a few members of my class during the day, but, try as we might, we didn’t spot Carla. (Let’s be real: after thirty minutes of elbowing at the window of the auction hall, we retreated in search of Nutella slathered crêpes and waffles.)

One thing is for sure: the people-watching was prime.

So was the wine tasting…of course!

{Doing a little publicity work for MyVitibox.}

{The “Anti-Parker Wine Buyer’s Guide”: The Seven Capital Sins…obviously there are mixed feelings about Parker here, as in the USA.}

{Cougar sighting?}

Wine School: An oxymoron? Not in France!

Bonjour! Guess who’s back in France?

And…since I’ve been away a while…and since there’s so much to tell…I’ll give you the long-story-short for now, accompanied by some mysterious pictures to pique your interest!

To make a long story short, then, since the beginning of this month, I have been taking classes at the Burgundy School of Business and working toward a Master’s Degree in International Wine Commerce. Yes, reading that sentence surprises me too. I would pinch myself, except that the demanding courses I am taking every day are enough of a wake-up call in themselves.

I’m back in France! I have six hours of classes in French every day! And this time next year I will be beginning my career in the wine industry!

Wow.

By way of introduction into this new French life, here are some images from my class’s first “field trip” into the Côte d’Or vineyards. We were led by our professor, Eric Vincent, who was trying to teach us about the geology of Burgundy terroir on what must have been the foggiest day of the year so far. Even though we couldn’t see much, we had fun climbing the prestigious Montrachet côte and noting the differences between limestone, loam, and clay soils – all very distinct, all in such close proximity. We had lunch in Beaune and finished the day with a cuverie visit and wine tasting at Domaine d’Ardhuy in Corgoloin.

I know what you’re thinking. It’s a pretty sweet deal to have the vineyards of Burgundy as a classroom and wine tasting as part of the curriculum. I know. I am aware.

Pinch me?!

{Our newly elected class representatives, Victor and François}

{“Moi-même,” Jenifer, Estelle, Laure, Emilie, and Marlène}

{Marion and Jules}

En Francais! Click here to see Marie-Amélie’s translation:

It’s Derby Time in Kentucky!

It’s officially Derby season (or has been for more than a week now) in Louisville. Here are some pictures of people “keeping Louisville weird” at the Cherokee Triangle Art Fair last Sunday.

The Wall Street Journal’s Lettie Teague defines “Sommelier” + a riddle of sorts!

Winemaker, Vineyard manager, Cellar Master.

Wine Writer, Critic, Journalist.

Wine Consultant, Distributor, Sales Director…

There are many, many diverse professions within the wine industry, yet “Sommelier” seems to be the layman’s catch-all for wine professionalism. In this video, Lettie Teague, wine writer for The Wall Street Journal, explains why it’s a hot career right now, the common assumptions about what these people do, and what it truly means to be a sommelier.

I think it’s a great summary that clears up a lot of misconceptions. But because I haven’t forgotten my dear English degree, I’d like to challenge you to find one fairly surprising orthographical error that jumped out at me in the first 40 seconds of the video. Here are three hints to draw your attention (don’t read them if you want to try to find it first without help!).

• I said “orthographical,” not “grammatical” or “typographical” error.
• It has something to do with a very common, non-wine specific term or expression.
• An artist might use it, or you can stack stuff on it, but for our purposes we’d rather perceive things with it.

Let me know what you come up with! Bonne chance!

Patience and wine tasting: What I learned from Francois and three chardonnays

Three glasses of chardonnay, three progressive hues of citrus-tinged, wheat, and golden yellow, three napkin shrouded bottles adorned with rudely scribbled numbers.

When French guests arrive, it is fitting to organize a tasting or two, if you are lucky enough to have been offered a well-cushioned and strategically packed bottle.

A true Burgundian, Sara’s beau François didn’t stop at one. Reserving precious cargo space for pinot and chardonnay instead of superfluous clothing, he made his way through Charles de Gaulle security wearing an extra sweater and two jackets on his way to Louisville last week. His efforts made it all the more appropriate that they should host not one but multiple wine tastings while he was in town, and I, the adoring friend, was happy to take part.

So, after a very American dinner of burgers — accompanied nonetheless by an introductory glass of white wine in lieu of beer — Sara’s family and I find ourselves introduced to Glass 1, Glass 2, and Glass 3 (all chardonnay) by the smiling, soft spoken but assertive, Frenchman.

“First of all, let’s have a look at the color,” François suggests, his accent a melange of his native French and school-taught British English.

The table stirs with conversation; mention of colors gives way to contiguous reflections and questions. What does color mean in terms of chardonnay? Reminds me of wheat fields or mustard. Remember the yellow colza fields of Burgundy springtime?

François refrains from dominating the conversation with didactic discourse. It’s easy to see he is delighted by everyone’s interest. With dark eyes and dark hair, plus a fitted polo and tight black jeans, he is one you might peg as typically European. To hear his nearly flawless English flow into effortlessly gorgeous French further distinguishes him as coming from a traditional, cultured French family. It is no exaggeration to say his love for wine is not so much a personal passion as it is an ancestral legacy.

And yet, this traditional Frenchie has learned to appreciate more than burgers and Bud Lite over the course of his relationship with my friend Sara. He is highly, and might I say uncharacteristically, complimentary of American wine, and encouraging of our interest in learning about wine in general.

But back to color. “One of these is an American wine,” says François, “so its color might not help us when compared to the other two. The others are both Louis Latour Burgundies: a village level, and a Montagny Premier Cru. In that case, the color might tell us something.”

François reminds us that an  older chardonnay will show darker color, but then adds that there is only one year of difference between the vintages of the two Burgundies. “Which is which?” he asks slyly.

At this point, we’ve all been swirling and sniffing. An overwhelming whiff of toasty vanilla leaves me (and my rookie wine student pride) gratified in declaring that Glass 1 must be the Kendall Jackson California Chardonnay.

The remaining two glasses have their own distinct complexities. Reactions to aromas from Glass 2 range from fingernail polish remover to baked apples, peaches, and a hint of port. After that strong nose, we all agree to a general difficulty in defining the aromas of Glass 3.

“It seems muted,” says Sara.

“Smell something else,” suggests François, lifting a homemade gougere to his nose.

Still, Glass 2 dominates our senses, intriguing some and alienating others of us. I have a preconceived notion that this powerful chard must be the premier cru.

When we taste the wines in succession, we all agree that Glass 1 is the California wine. It’s familiar to us. François nods neutrally.

Glass 2 again gets the most attention after its visit with our palates. Nutty and peachy, with that lasting taste of something like port, it is a rich wine and needs food to accompany it. I’m fairly certain it is the premier cru, especially when the closed, acidic third glass leaves us grasping at straws to come up with a description.

We go around the table, offering our final judgments and reasoning behind them. I stand alone in choosing Glass 2 as the premier cru. It is not until François offers his educated opinion, however, that my conviction falls by the wayside.

“I agree that Glass 1 is the Kendall Jackson,” he says simply and definitively, pushing the glass apart from the others as if to visually confirm its otherness.

“But the choice between the two Burgundies is more complicated, just like the wines in this case. Look at the color. Glass 2 is indeed the darkest of the three, which leads us to believe it is oldest. But remember that the Bourgogne is only one year older than the Montagny Premier Cru: this should not be enough to tell a difference. Furthermore, if Glass 3 is a premier cru, it would take longer to develop color, just as it would take longer to develop its aromas and taste. Glass 2, as you can tell, is complex and round and ready to drink now, but it is only five or six years old. It cannot age much longer, can it? Glass 3 is still acidic and mysterious. One might think this is a sign of lesser quality, but it could just as easily be an indication of immense quality and complexity that will not reveal itself for years to come.”

The table is silent as the lesson takes effect. Light bulbs are going off. Revelations over three glasses of wine.

Across from François, I nod my head. I am at once disappointed that the seemingly obvious had not occurred to me and impressed by François’ execution.

Sara’s sister breaks the respectful silence. “Can we unwrap them already?” she asks, pointing to the mummy-esque bottles.

François does the honors and confirms his suspicion. The table livens once again, reactions to the solution of the game leading to tangential conversations and reflections.

I sit back in my chair, letting the lesson sink in and vowing not to make the same mistake again. Not that I guessed incorrectly, but that I spoke too soon. With a bit more patience, perhaps I would have come to a similar conclusion. François’ explanation makes perfect sense, and I’ve heard it before. I had been convinced even before tasting it that the village level wine was premier cru caliber (and perhaps it was, since there is only so much wine that is allowed to be labeled “premier cru,” leaving many bottles to be “declassified” each year: subject for another post). Had my mind been closed to other possibilities by this preconceived notion? I’m sure it was.

Patience is a virtue, as they say. More than that, it’s probably the only key to unlocking the mysteries of wine.

Life in Images: Easter

{Notice the dog looking in at the food.}

Happy Easter!

Paris is calling. She says she booked your apartment in the 14th for this summer.

{My room with a view}

An artist’s studio should be a small space because small rooms discipline the mind and large ones distract it. –Leonardo Da Vinci

After living in a room that had at one time been a maid’s tiny quarters, I believe the word “studio” will forever conjure the sound of church bells, smells of rotisserie chicken cooking at the Saturday market beneath my window, memories of cooking experiments in tight quarters, and the odd sensation of stepping out of my shower into my kitchenette.

I don’t remember having many complaints about my tiny apartment. I always had everything I needed at my fingertips, the whole world right outside my door, and the freedom to banish any nonessential piece of junk, because there wasn’t any excuse to cram it into nine square meters.

(In case you still can’t envision the size, imagine this: I could “mop” my entire floor by stretching a wet wipe over a broom and sweeping for five minutes, and I could open my refrigerator without rising from bed.)

Often during the nine months I spent in that bright little place I remarked that I felt inordinately productive. I read and wrote a lot, and I learned everything I know about cooking (almost) on those two slightly slanted electric burners.

I really miss it.

Which is why, my friends, I encourage you to look into renting a hole-in-the-wall studio of your own for a bit. Maybe just a month. Perhaps a week or two.

And why not in Paris? Why not this summer?

It sounds like I have a studio in mind, doesn’t it? Why yes, in fact, I do. My friend Sophie has a little apartment – a whopping twice the size of my beloved studio, mind you – in the 14^th arrondissement of Paris, not far from the Luxembourg Gardens, that she would like to rent out between July 7 and August 18 this year.

Well lit, recently renovated, and furnished (futon, coffee table, chair, sheets, towels, kitchen utensils), this charming studio is typically Parisian, with views of the City of Light’s rooftops and easy access to the metro as well as trains to Orly and Roissy.

Imagine walking down the pedestrian market-street Rue Daguerre in the 14^th arrondissement. Visit the tower at Montparnasse and the museum dedicated to fabulous French photographer Henri-Cartier Bresson. Stop at a café around Place Denfert-Rochereau before a stroll through the Luxembourg Gardens. Just the thought makes me wish I could snap this little place up…

You don’t need much to keep you satisfied in Paris. Twenty square meters sounds about right.

The rent, including all charges, is 400 euros for one week, 700 euros for two weeks, 950 euros for three weeks, or 1150 euros for four weeks.

If you’re interested, let me know and I will put you in touch with Sophie!

Saying ‘I Do’ In France, by Becoming Madame

A few months back, when I started getting questions about the differences between French and American weddings, I thought, I’ll have to write an exposé on all the differences I can drum up. But, much as I’d like to claim proficiency in all things French, I’m still an All-American girl who will have to learn these things as she goes along. When Nicolas told me wedding cakes aren’t white in France, I decided I’d be better off turning the reins over to someone who’s actually been through the process of making her very American idea of a wedding compatible with a traditional wedding en France.

That’s why today I am ravie to share a guest post from a real American gal turned French Madame! I’ve been reading “Madame’s” writing since I discovered her blog, appropriately called Becoming Madame, last year. She writes about French culture, tradition, literature, and about the art of living in Paris. (Obviously, we have a lot in common!) Because she is much more of an expert on the subject than I am, having been married to a Frenchman for several years now, I’ve asked her to enlighten us (read: me) about all the ins and outs of French weddings, from her perspective.

I’m looking forward to hearing what you think, and I highly recommend checking out Madame’s blog. Un grand merci, Madame!

Saying ‘I Do’ in France
by The Author of Becoming Madame

When my husband proposed to me, I had already been living in Paris for two years. Naturally, upon the offer of his hand in marriage, surprise and thrill and sheer excitement swaddled me in an enchanted haze of happiness, as it does with anyone, I suppose, who’s on the brink of that particular new chapter in life.

I had, by then, completed my self-imposed French immersion and was relatively comfortable in my belief that I understood French life – its customs, its quirks, and its charms. Having lived in France during those first years almost exclusively enveloped in Paris’ expat community, my boyfriend, a Frenchman down to the very last follicle on his head, was my window into real French life. Through him I was privy to the idyllic and mesmerizing world of a French yesteryear in the form of histraditionalFrench family with roots stretching back further than I could fathom. And now I was going to be a part of it.

Once I became a French fiancée, the buffer my boyfriend had proved throughout our courtship was removed and the veil lifted. I was left face-to-face with the beloved French traditions and customs I thought I had conquered; I found myselftête à tête with the wishes and expectations of my to-be belle-famille.

Not knowing any better, I naively began planning an American wedding in France. Little did I know that a wedding in North America is not a French mariage. Sure, the general elements are all present: there was to be a lovely, old, stone church; an onslaught of dust colored roses; candles everywhere; a three-tiered cake; a big white tent; a French lace gown for me; and a tuxedo for my fiancé. I’d had the picture of how all this would look in my mind’s eye ever since I was in high school. The location had changed several times over the years, granted, but the images of my wedding remained net and wrapped in romantic clouds of lace and candle light.

The reality of marrying into a large, traditional, French family truly dawned on me as I sat with my future mother-in-law, a pad of writing paper strategically placed between us, discussing how she saw the event coming together: les procédures, les formules, les traditions familiales. As I sat in a dazed confusion before her, French words incoherently flying over my head, a weary thought passed through my mind: Was this going to be my wedding, the wedding of which I’d always dreamed? Are there really that many rules?

My own mom being four-thousand miles away left me rather alone to coordinate the planning. True enough, my fiancé was present; but save for a few enlightened exceptions, I find that men are much less interested in “the wedding” than women. The former having accomplished their part by organizing a romantic engagement, now pass the baton onto their feminine halves to work out the celebratory details. My case did not deviate from this norm.

Now, I don’t want to alarm any new fiancées who might be marrying into a French family. Much of the color of my experience hails from the history and traditions of the family into which I married. And I say that with the utmost love and respect. Now that a few years have passed, we can all look back on the wedding planning ordeal and share a good-hearted chuckle about it all.

It wasn’t always so funny to me, though. I can remember periods of stress and trepidation, frustration and even a little anger. I’m sure many brides in every part of the world go through a little of this, too. Yet there are a few particular reasons why the Frenchness of my wedding led to moments of acute panic. Certain parts of the French wedding experience are just not the same as they are in North America. Here’s what I mean:

Les Fiançailles

Let’s start at the beginning. In France, the engagement is celebrated by les fiançailles, a form of engagement party, which is traditionally when the man presents the woman with her ring and when the parents meet each other for the first time. After a big meal all together, the engagement is blessed at a Mass before the congregation and the two families.

A couple of these details might strike you as quite unlike the North American custom:

Firstly, the ring is given at the fiançailles and not at the proposal. Although my husband opted for an American style proposal (to my delight), his mother was less than pleased that I was already wearing my engagement ring before the fiançailles transpired. Indeed, the French tradition is for the man and women to decide they want to marry, for the man to ask “Veux-tu m’épouser?” “Will you marry me?” If she agrees, he then asks her parents (very traditionally, the man asks her father while he is wearing white gloves). The engagement is then announced to the respective families and the couple go out together to buy a ring. Interestingly, the French call our ‘man on one knee, velvet box in hand’ proposal a “Hollywood proposal.”

Secondly, the engagement is blessed during a Mass. This is one of those details I mentioned that occurs with more traditional families. Obviously, if the couple is not going to partake in a religious ceremony or they are not religious at all, then this part would not play a role in the fiançailles.

My own fiançailles was a wonderful afternoon at my to-be parents-in-law’s property where the wedding would take place a year later. My family came over for the celebration and met my fiancé’s family for the first time.The whole event was a charming, if unexpected, prelude to the wedding itself.

Atmospheric Variances

If I was pressed to name the most significant difference between North American style weddings and those in France it would be a matter of tone. What do I mean by tone? With North American TV shows like Bridezilla and hundreds of wedding websites, a couple dozen glossy bridal magazines and thousands of professionals ready to aid the North American bride create her dream day,weddings have become more of a show, a cabaret of sorts, a service industry cash cow, more of a production than a family celebration. Although the wedding industry is inevitably coming to Europe, and to France in particular, it hasn’t reached the borders quite yet. Thus French weddings remain more low key, family-oriented affairs akin to a family reunion, more in tune with what weddings were in North America 50 years ago.

Although set in the grounds of gilded chateaux or under billowing white tents in vineyards or on rolling lavender hills in Provence, French weddings embody several degrees less of the theatrical hoopla than their North American counterparts, which is an aspect of French weddings that I greatly respect. The original meaning of the ceremony is not overshadowed by efforts to impress or outshine or dazzle. As is the case with most of French culture, the order of the day is good old-fashioned enjoyment. And because French weddings are so much more down-to-earth, in a sense, they cost a fraction of what a similar event would run State-side. Stretch limos, for instance, are rare in France. Couples tend toward renting or borrowing antique cars or a shiny sedan. Lovely flowers are arranged on the tables and there are cocktails and hors d’oeuvres and music at the reception. But the component parts add up to a totally different equation. It’s all much less ‘done.’ As my mother-in-law explained to me at one of our early planning sessions: “A [French] wedding is about the coming together of two people and by extension two families. The party that follows is a celebration of that union and must not be dwarfed by the whims of la mode.”

My wedding, by the way, was far too ‘done’ for the likes of my belle-mère even with my sincerest efforts to follow her lead and dial down most of my ideas. In the end, it became abundantly clear that the essence of what she perceived to be a proper, respectable wedding, and what I had grown up learning to desire as a wedding, were simply not the same.

Wedding Planners

Wedding planners exist in France, but as you can imagine they are rare. The industry is a budding one and the quality of services and their expertise vary greatly. I hired a planner for my wedding to overcome three very specific obstacles:

(1) I was living in Paris while I was trying to plan a wedding in Dordogne (something akin to living in NYC and planning a wedding in Kansas);

(2) Being an American, I had no contacts in France for caterer (les traiteurs – I didn’t even know the word for a caterer back then), tent rentals, florists, bands, photographers, church musicians, etc. And I didn’t know how to deal with the totally new vocabulary that comes with planning any wedding, but especially when doing so in a second language: fabric types and colors, flower names, tent types, candle shapes, ribbon fabrics – you’d be astonished how much there is to learn when you plan a wedding, even in your own language!

And (3) I needed a buffer to mediate between me and my belle-famille in terms of our rather variant ideas on how the day would progress.

After a long search, I ended up discovering a fabulous bilingual wedding planner in Bordeaux who decreased my stress level by a percentage very worthy of her commission.

Two Weddings

The second most pronounced difference between North American and French weddings is the fact that in France you are obligated to marry twice. In fact, all weddings take place at the City Hall first and then if the couple wish to do so they can marry in a church. The separation of Church and State with respect to French weddings is absolute. The two ceremonies are not combined as they are in the Anglo-Saxon traditions. It does not matter when you marry civilly as long as it is in advance of your religious wedding. You might recall that the Prince of Monaco was married back in July 2011 twice – once civilly, once religiously.  Many French brides decide to have the civil ceremony the morning of their religious wedding. I chose to have mine the evening before so as to follow the North American tradition of not seeing my groom before I walked down the aisle on the day of the religious wedding.

Paper Work

As there are two weddings in France, there is also twice the paper work.

For a civil marriage, you must supply the City Hall with all types of ID and proof that you aren’t already married. A pamphlet of all required documentation is available at the Mairie where you plan to get married. Remember, in France you have to be domiciled in the place where you plan to get married civilly. I refer you to a post I wrote all about the procedures of getting married in France. (Look here for more detailed information.)

To be married religiously in a Catholic church in France, you are required to meet with the priest of the church where you are getting married and he may request that you undergo a certain number of pre-marital sessions with your fiancé(e). My husband and I enrolled in a 14 session pre-marital course that I was quite weary of at first but thoroughly enjoyed in the end. In these meetings, we met several other young couples from our parish who have now become great friends.

“You may kiss the bride!”

Or not! In a Catholic French wedding, the priest does not say “You may kiss the bride” at the end of the ceremony. The picture that you and I have grown up imagining with the congregation clapping as the officiant smiles upon the embracing newly-weds, is not a little French child’s bridal fairytale. In fact, the bride and groom do not normally kiss until they exit the church and are standing before the waiting congregation on the church steps.

For my wedding, I was prepared to sacrifice a great deal in order to appease my belle-famille – compromise, yes, compromise –so that the celebration would prove meaningful not only to me and my family but to my husband and his family as well. However, the kiss was non-negotiable. I had my heart set on this particular Anglo-Saxon tradition which proved a real exercise in my most profound negotiating skills. The priest who married us felt that any change to the normal French wedding program was sacrilege, and right up until the week before the wedding he held on to his refusal to say those five little words: “Vous pouvez embrasser la mariée.”

Le tenu du marié

I’d always pictured my fiancé waiting for me at the altar in a tuxedo with a white rose pinned to his lapel, cummerbund and bow tie in place. But that’s not how it works in France. French grooms have a choice between a jaquette (most common for country weddings) – what we in North America would call a Mr. Darcy suit – or a habit (most common for city weddings), which is what a chef d’orchestre wears with white bowtie and tails. The traditional French groom also accompanies his jaquette or habit with a top hat and white gloves. Tuxedos in the North American sense, as was explained to me by my father-in-law, are appropriate for a Parisian Ball or if you were, say, invited to dine with the President of the Republic. Save for those two elegant occasions, tuxedos are left to the waiters of chic French restaurants and they are by no means appropriate outfits for a groom. Being a musician, my husband chose the habit for himself and matching jaquettes for our fathers and his temoins.

The Wedding Party

Speaking of les temoins reminds me of yet another marked difference between French and North American weddings. In France, groomsmen and bridesmaids do not exist. Instead, the French have les temoins who are friends or family members chosen to be witnesses of the ceremony for the bride and groom. The gender of the temoins is of no importance. A groom’s temoins may include his sister just as easily as his best male friend. Naturally, as there is no wedding party, there is no procession up the aisle by paired-off groomsmen and bridesmaids. The groom enters the church just before the bride and escorts his mother up the aisle. A Best Man and a Maid of Honor also play no role in a French wedding. There are, however, les enfants d’honneur, akin to our flower girls and ring bearers, except that their job is to tend to the bride’s train.

I must admit that I changed almost all of these rules for my wedding. I chose my sister as my Maid of Honor and she walked up the aisle on the arm of my husband’s brother (one of his temoins) who stood by his side at the altar. I engaged our two nieces as flower girls and two of our nephews as ring bearers.

Given the absence of a wedding party, it follows that the North American Rehearsal is also not a part of a French wedding. Yet, since I introduced many of the associated North American elements to my French wedding, we planned a Rehearsal for the day before the ceremony.

Salon du mariage

The Salon du mariage is the one exception to what I previously mentioned about French weddings not being all about pomp and circumstance, hoopla and excessive preparedness. In fact, it is one of the benefits of planning a wedding from Paris. Posters for these Salons, which are held around the city at various times of year, begin popping up on billboards in early spring. Thousands of to-be brides flock to these expositions to sample caterers, secure a band or a photographer, sign up for their ‘liste de mariage,’ try on dresses, order invitations, pick out wedding bands and select a florist. My husband and I enjoyed walking through a few of these Salons as fiancés. They are a particularly useful resource for couples planning their wedding themselves and, shall we say, a rite of passage for all French brides.

First Dances

One the questions most asked of a newly married couple in North America is “So, what was your wedding song?” This question purports to acknowledge our tradition of the couple’s First Dance and the chosen melody that will forever be ‘their song.’ This is not a part of the French wedding tradition. Rather than the couple warming up the dance floor with their First Dance or perhaps more à la mode these days with some sort of choreographed dance routine, the French begin the dance portion of the wedding with a Father-Daughter waltz. After a few minutes dancing with this daughter, the father of the bride hands her over to her husband and the couple finish off the waltz as man and wife.

If you ask a French couple what their Wedding Song was, they will assume you are talking about the musique d’entrée which is a song chosen by the couple to be played when they enter the reception. The French tradition is that guests rise to their feet at this moment, clap their hands and twirl their napkins over their heads.

In a wave of international compromise, my husband and I combined the two traditions. We forewent the musique d’entrée, began the dance portion of the evening with a waltz to which I danced with my father who handed me to my husband. Then later in the evening, we cleared the floor and danced to our Wedding Song.

Wedding Cakes

Finally, a word on French wedding cakes. If you are anything like me, when you think of a wedding cake you picture a tiered structure likely with white creamy decoration, laden with fresh flowers, perhaps even a little ribbon, and topped with a small statuette of a bride and groom. By now, you won’t be surprised when I tell you that this does not describe a French wedding cake. And what’s more, it is not easy to find a pastry shop, even in Paris, that will readily make you one. If you do find a volunteer, they want to charge you almost as much as if you were having the darn cake shipped from home in a refrigerated plane! No, I exaggerate, but only a little. I found a wonderful shop in Bordeaux that made my ivory tiered dessert for me and with Butter Cream icing, to boot, rather than the more traditional French almond paste.

The traditional French wedding cake, by contrast, is called une Pièce Montée and is made of small, golden, cream-filled balls called les choux mounted with caramel glaze into a triangular tier shape. Cutting the cake in France, as you can imagine, takes on a different meaning.

*

By way of conclusion, I will leave you with a short etymological tale which I found rather enlightening on the differences between French and North American weddings as well as a chart of the main cultural contrasts.

One of my future brothers-in-law asked me while I was in the process of planning my wedding what the difference was in English between the words ‘wedding’ and ‘marriage.’ “In French,” he said, “le mariage seems to signify both of your English words. We don’t make the distinction.” How insightful and astute his question was, indeed! Quite tellingly, in English we have a whole separate word for the celebration of the marriage, whereas in French the celebration and the lifelong commitment are all wrapped up in one seven-letter word.

Main Differences between North American and French Weddings:

North America                                                                                  France

Combined civil and religious ceremony	Two separate ceremonies
Lots of hoopla!	A whole lot less hoopla!
Tuxedos for grooms	Jaquette or habit for grooms
Rehearsals and Rehearsal dinners	No Rehearsal or Rehearsal dinner
Wedding parties (groomsmen/bridesmaids/ flower girls/ ring bearers)	No groomsmen or bridesmaids, les temoins of either gender instead, les enfants d’honneur
“You may kiss the bride.”	The kiss is on the church steps after the ceremony
Engagement Parties	Les Fiançailles
Knee and ring proposals	Mutual decision proposals, ring bought together
Couple’s first dance and wedding song	Father-Daughter Waltz begins the dance
Tiered wedding cake	La Pièce Montée

For the translation from Marie-Amelie click here:

World War II and the vineyards of southern Burgundy, on E-Romantic Hotels

You’ve already met Monsieur Drouin via the teaser transcription I posted yesterday, so I know you are on the edge of your seats to know more. Let me just say, the article that came of my conversation with Monsieur Drouin is nothing like what I expected it to be. Having tasted his wine a few weeks ago, I was eager to write more about a certain Macon-Villages I found particularly refreshing and clean. In the end I didn’t even mention it!

Monsieur Drouin brought up a topic that always piques my interest: World War II. When he started talking about the impact the Nazis had on Burgundian wine tradition, I knew the article would take a different turn. I did a bit more research. I waded through articles in French. What spurred me on (as if I needed spurring!) was the absolute dearth of information on the subject in English. Such a fascinating topic, and only one primary source came up in a Google Search!

Please indulge my fascination and let me know what you think about the article on E-Romantic Hotels’ website. Thanks!

{Hotel Burgevin, Loire Valley}

While we’re on the topic: E-Romantic Hotels is a French website (with text in both English and French) founded and run by Isabelle Brigout. Isabelle’s team searches for the most charming hotels and bed and breakfasts in France and organizes them by region, featuring them in an easy-to-browse database on the site.

The three make-it-or-break it criteria for inclusion on the site? Each hotel must be distinguished by beautiful architecture, elegant interior design and decoration, and a very warm welcome.

{Résidence Dary, Corsica and Hotel Le Moulin, Alsace}

To hear Isabelle describe it in her own words — in French — visit this page. I highly recommend listening to any of her 1.5 minute weekly “Air Show” radio spots, during which she describes a featured destination. It would be especially useful if you are just learning French. She articulates beautifully and exudes the French je ne sais quoi (pardon the cliche) to a tee. Plus, there is a transcript, so you can read along if you’d like.

All photos: E-Romantic-Hotels.com

Marie-Amelie’s Translation:

La Seconde Guerre Mondiale et les vignes du sud Bourgogne, sur E-Romantic Hotels

Vous avez déjà fait la connaissance de Monsieur Drouin dans le résumé que j’ai posté hier, donc je sais que vous mourez d’envie d’en savoir plus. Je vous dirai juste que l’article ressorti de ma conversation avec Monsieur Drouin n’a rien à voir avec ce à quoi je m’attendais. J’ai goûté ses vins il y a quelques semaines, j’avais hâte d’écrire un peu plus à propos d’un certain Mâcon-Villages que j’avais trouvé particulièrement rafraichissant et pur. Finalement, je ne l’ai même pas mentionné.

Monsieur Drouin a évoqué un sujet qui éveille toujours mon intérêt : la Seconde Guerre Mondiale. Quand il a commencé à parler de l’influence des Nazis sur la tradition viticole en Bourgogne, j’ai su que l’article allait prendre un tour différent. J’ai effectué un peu plus de recherches. J’ai pataugé au milieu d’articles en français. Ce qui m’a stimulée (comme si j’avais besoin d’être stimulée) est le manque profond d’information en anglais sur la question. Un sujet si fascinant, et seulement une source principale dans la recherche Google !

Pitié, pardonnez ma fascination et dites-moi ce que vous pensez de mon article sur le site d’E-Romantic Hotels. Merci !

Puisqu’on en parle, E-Romantic Hotels est un site Français (avec des textes en anglais et en français), fondé et dirigé  par Isabelle Brigout. L’équipe d’Isabelle recherche les hôtels et chambres d’hôtes les plus charmants de France et les trie par région, pour les présenter dans une base de données facile à parcourir sur le site.

Les trois critères de sélection pour apparaître sur le site ? chaque hôtel doit se distinguer par une belle architecture, une décoration intérieure et un design élégants, et un accueil très chaleureux.

Pour entendre Isabelle faire une description avec ses propres mots – en français – visitez cette page. Je vous recommande chaudement d’écouter un de ses spots hebdomadaires de 1,5 minutes ‘’en radio’’, pendant lequel elle décrit une destination sélectionnée. Cela vous sera très utile si vous apprenez tout juste le Français. Elle articule parfaitement et respire à plein nez le je ne sais quoi Français (pardon pour le cliché). En plus, il y a une transcription, donc vous pouvez suivre en lisant si vous le désirez.