Let them eat Tasti

In a remarkable cultural exchange, the French are now looking stateside for restaurant advice.

The Times reports:
"Now, though, the French are looking to America, in particular New York, for inspiration in all things culinary. Even — best whisper it — when it comes to French cooking...And behind this is not just the dress-down revolution but a very American realization that the highest standards are best maintained through profitability. Financially, a formal restaurant simply can't compete with a bistro, where the menus are simpler, more gets sold and fewer employees are needed."

It continues: "There seems to be little repining about this in France. Indeed, many there see the dominance of bistro cooking as a return to classical simplicity. Nonetheless, it has taken an American-style revolution in informal dining to revive an interest in classic, back-to-basics — we might even say, in honor of Bastille Day, 'peasant' French food."

Let the French be warned: It's a slippery slope from haute cuisine to classically simple bistros to a certain frozen dessert. Where Frenchwomen have the Paradox that permits them to eat pur beurre and look none the worse for it,* New York women have long since realized that the French Paradox "simply can't compete" with tasti-d-lite for lunch as a diet plan.

I'll accept that food in Paris, at least, is frequently better than food in New York (not bringing Hyde Park into the discussion, for obvious reasons). I'm just pointing out that it might not be long till fashion- and figure-conscious Frenchwomen discover fake iced cream.

*A recent trip to agnes b., where I expected to have a pleasant time looking at fabulous clothing far too expensive to actually buy, went awry when the saleswoman, presumably of the French persuasion, interrupted my conversation with a friend about how cool some pants were to let me know that I would not be able to fit my hips into them. "These are teenager pants," she said. The three of us then had a brief and unpleasant chat about why what's a size 4 at, say, the Gap is more like a size 10 at agnes b. The saleswoman, it seemed, was not a fan of the more, ahem, kind American sizing: "Here, I'm a size negative-two!" How unfortunate for her.