The Rhythm of Life in France

And the realization that time off is a good thing

It didn’t take me long once I’d moved permanently to France to figure out the French schedule of life.

It helped having a little boy in school, because thanks to him, I learned that every six weeks he would have two weeks off school.  I remember a sense of terror at learning this, however, for I worked for myself and had ferocious deadlines .  We had also purchased a ruin of a house, and needed at some point to move in, which was my husband’s job.

Our friends with kids just sent them away to family – grandparents, cousins, siblings.  We didn’t have that at our disposal and our son didn’t yet speak French, so it seemed cruel to park him in a state-run activity center five days a week, or with an only French-speaking babysitter.  We already felt a little cruel to put him in school, but it was the best way to help him adjust, and we’d found the magic teacher who relished having a little English speaker in her class.  Our solution to the frequent vacations was to split the day; I worked mornings and took Joe afternoons; his dad did the opposite. 

Then there were Wednesdays, a non-school day.  Why?  Catechism, of course. Originally, Thursdays were set aside for religious education, then it changed to Wednesday. Then, practically no one sent their kids to Catechism, but the midweek holiday stuck.

And then came Saturday morning, when there WAS school, so that a weekend trip, unless it was to the next village, was out of the question. 

And finally, Sunday.  Sunday is a true Holy Day that has nothing to do with religion.  It’s is a day of rest, when one is allowed a “grasse matinée,” or “fat morning” to lie abed.  Of course, church bells ring wildly for 11 a.m. mass which stalwarts attend, then everyone – attendees or not -  flow to the baker, the butcher, the florist, then off to a grand Sunday lunch, when you can hear a pin drop in the center of the city. Until about 5 p.m., when people totter out and on home.

There are plenty of other moments during the year that are so predictable one can set a watch by them: Christmas Eve (not Christmas Day, that’s for a big lunch with family members), New Year’s Eve, the February ski vacation, the month of May when there are four state holidays (which usually means four, four-day weekends) and, finally, Les Grandes Vacances, summer vacation.

People plan for their summer vacation all year, snapping up tickets to exotic spots like the beaches of Thailand or Guadeloupe, the trails of La Réunion, chalets in the Alpes, or that house-with-pool in the south. 

All these years I’ve observed the rituals of French vacations, and my conclusion is this. Staying put is the way to go. Everyone is gone so things are blessedly quiet.  You can ride the wrong way down a street and no one yells at you, because there is no one. You can go to the market and all the essential vendors will be there, even if there are few customers. As for the cinema, it’s wide open; you can change seats every five minutes, eat chips and rattle the bag all you want, even discuss the film with your neighbor and no one will give you the evil eye because you’re a human island in an empty sea of seats. True, you cannot get anything done, nor get help if you need it: “Doctor, I am dying.” “Call me August 28th, I’m on vacation.”

All is relative. But there is much to be said for staying at home during official vacations, particularly the long summer break. Why would anyone want to leave Normandy or Paris, for instance, when daylight stretches on forever and you can have every meal outdoors and not melt like a pat of butter?

To each his/her own, for sure.  For me, over time of living in this genteel country I find myself voting heartily for taking enough time off at once to get through the delerium of work withdrawal, staying put, enjoying life more, taking advantage of everything shutting down so nothing gets done. It is, I know, a very French attitude.

And now it is post August 15th, summer is gently winding down and people are returning from their “vacances.” In Normandy we have a deluge of summer rain.  My garden is singing with joy, the leaves on the fig tree literally doing the Macarena.  Produce is very abundant, and very summery and I’m going to share a season-appropriate, stay-at-home, enjoy the moment Salade Niçoies, from PLAT DU JOUR. Bon Appétit!

MAIN COURSE SALADS
SALADE NICOISE

1 pound (500g) cherry tomatoes, trimmed and cut in half, lengthwise
1 cucumber (that weighs about 12 ounces;360g), peeled and thinly sliced
Fine sea salt
2 pounds (1 kg) fava beans in their husks, shucked (frozen fava beans work perfectly here; you’ll need about 1-1/2 cups worth)
12 anchovy filets or 8 ounces (250g) canned albacore tuna (in oil)
1 cup (10g) basil leaves, gently packed
1 garlic clove cut in half
One 4 ounce (120g) green pepper such as cubanelle or shishito, trimmed, kept whole, seeded and cut in thin rounds
4 small, round spring onions or 8 scallions, cut in half lengthwise and very thinly sliced
½ cup (3 ounces;90g) black olives such as Niçoise, with pits
About ¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
3 large eggs, hard-cooked, peeled and cut in quarters
Freshly ground black pepper
Fine sea salt
Basil leaves – for garnish

1.     Place the tomatoes and the cucumber slices in a sieve set over a large bowl.  Salt them with an even shower of salt (about 1 teaspoon), shake the colander so all the vegetables are evenly salted, and reserve while you prepare the rest of the salad.

2.     Bring a small saucepan filled with lightly salted water to a boil over medium-high heat.  When the water is at a rolling boil, add the shucked fava beans, let boil for 2 minutes, then remove the fava beans from the water, leaving the hot water in the saucepan. Carefully make a slit in the outer skin of each fava bean and squeeze or take out the tender green been inside.  Discard the skins. If the outer skin doesn’t easily cut and peel off, return the fava beans to the hot water for a minute or two.  (if using frozen favas, they’re already peeled but will benefit from a quick plunge into boiling water, literally less than a minute. Drain, and use them in the salad).

3.     Cut the anchovy fillets into large dice.  If using canned tuna instead, crumble it into bite-sized or smaller pieces.  If using fresh, seared tuna, slice it thinly.

4.     Tear the largest basil leaves into bite-sized pieces. Reserve several sprigs of smaller leaves, for garnish.

5.     To serve the salad, rub a large salad bowl with the garlic clove.  Place all the ingredients (except the tuna if using, and the eggs) in the bowl.

6.     Mince the basil leaves and add to the bowl, then pour over the olive oil and toss all the ingredients together, very gently, so they are all coated with oil. Taste for seasoning.  Garnish the salad with the crumbled or sliced tuna (if using) the eggs and additional basil leaves and serve immediately.

6 servings