Yesterday evening saw me dining with friends; a banker for one of the big ‘uns’ in France, his wife, a social service officer, a lady working in IT, and her husband, a manager for GE. As can be expected from such functions, the hours preceding the event were filled with blood, sweat and tears – well, for my wife as she set up camp in the kitchen. I, being made of English stock, spent much of my time being beaten away from the dishes being prepared, or dashing off in the car in order to hunt down that elusive ingredient.
So, off trundled les rosbif in search of baby artichokes – of a particular type, you see, as those grown in poor soil have no tenderness. It was whilst on this quest – for it surely turned out to be one – that I tuned into the radio and listened to a discussion concerning the latest statistics from Eurostat – that consumer prices here in EuroLand were 1.8 percent higher this month than at the same time last year, and were 0.2 percent higher than in August. Hmm, no surprise there. The next issue up for debate then involved one of my favourite targets: Madame Christine Lagarde. Covering her recent comments regarding hedge funds, the radio also cited her resolve to cut the French budget deficit by 40 billion Euros next year… this is contrary to some of her, and Sarko the barko’s, previous statements that there will be no cuts in social services, or tax increases, as France was in a strong position to weather the storm currently blowing over EuroLand. Well, much like how the summer has suddenly ended here, so, too, it seems, has French insouciance.
Later, whilst sitting at the wrong end of the dining table to have access to those artichokes – much to my private chagrin as I had worked hard to acquire them, and even harder when extracting the hearts after a session of cooking that saw tempers and steam rise in equal amounts as one fought to finish before the first knock on the door - the issue of finance was introduced to the participants of the evening. Not by me, I must add, but the social service officer, bemoaning the reduction in funds for cultural anthropological studies upon those that come to live in my part of the world.
Much like the entrée – a rather snapping quiche served very cold and accompanied with a splash of Meursault – my quick comment of there being a ratio of perhaps 1000 cows to each person, and that perhaps such studies were irrelevant to the local economy at present, was met with the not-to-unexpected reaction of being blutterbunged… well, not from all. The banker appeared to nod in agreement to my statement, whilst avoiding an immediate defence of his wife’s position by helping himself to more of the artichokes, and thus curtailing his ability to speak - as the eldest of the guests, he was afforded the honour of being seated closest to the kitchen, and therefore could decide what to pass down the table as it was served. Bastard. I, being the youngest, was placed at the bottom, and was responsible for accumulating the empty dishes in my area, which prevented there being space for much else. I near panicked at one stage as it appeared that my glass would have to be sacrificed for additional room – and it is a large table – but averted disaster by finishing the remainder of the quiche, and thus was able to remove the dish. Hey, if I was to forego some of the culinary presentations, I sure as hell was not going to forego feeling satiated come the end of the evening.
The conversation quickly descended into the realities on the ground, with the IT lady and her husband moving discussion into the rate of employment seen from two different professions. It’s looking grim… for those that want entry to the feast that is fulltime employment in France. With strong labour laws, and generous holiday entitlements, it is extremely costly for an employer to hire anybody, and so the recent trend the last year or so is to take on contract workers when needed - a trend that, ostensibly, is becoming increasingly permanent, albeit with a negative gradient as fewer and fewer contracts are being offered. This, I suggested, skews the real situation, but helps with the serving of official figures to the public. Turning to the banker – busily helping himself to another scoop of the Corsican veal dish, and by association, my lunch the following day - I asked what his thoughts were upon French GDP, CPI, PMI ? Whilst most present assumed a glaze not too indifferent to that seen on some of the hors d'œuvres, the banker’s response was, ‘Ah, we may have long holidays, but we are productive.’ I wish I had had a German guest at this point, as I’m sure they would have choked somewhat.
Productive, erm, with each serving of French growth forecasts, the dollop to be expected is reduced. And so it was with my dessert – an egg custardy-kind-of -thingy that each guest spooned out for themselves. To be fair to the banker, he took the least – probably stuffed with artichoke and veal – but still, I had to feign contentment at the quantities of other food that I had already consumed, and encourage my guests to eat their fill. Which they surely did, and which reminded me somewhat of how much France takes from the EU. Burp!
And so the end of the evening arrived, and with it, my chance to check on what was left. Much like the young elsewhere in Europe, I was able to find scraps here and there that would keep me going until the next day, but nothing of substance that would enable me to not have to worry too much about what I could put on the table the next day.
And no, I did not get an artichoke. Pff…
So, off trundled les rosbif in search of baby artichokes – of a particular type, you see, as those grown in poor soil have no tenderness. It was whilst on this quest – for it surely turned out to be one – that I tuned into the radio and listened to a discussion concerning the latest statistics from Eurostat – that consumer prices here in EuroLand were 1.8 percent higher this month than at the same time last year, and were 0.2 percent higher than in August. Hmm, no surprise there. The next issue up for debate then involved one of my favourite targets: Madame Christine Lagarde. Covering her recent comments regarding hedge funds, the radio also cited her resolve to cut the French budget deficit by 40 billion Euros next year… this is contrary to some of her, and Sarko the barko’s, previous statements that there will be no cuts in social services, or tax increases, as France was in a strong position to weather the storm currently blowing over EuroLand. Well, much like how the summer has suddenly ended here, so, too, it seems, has French insouciance.
Later, whilst sitting at the wrong end of the dining table to have access to those artichokes – much to my private chagrin as I had worked hard to acquire them, and even harder when extracting the hearts after a session of cooking that saw tempers and steam rise in equal amounts as one fought to finish before the first knock on the door - the issue of finance was introduced to the participants of the evening. Not by me, I must add, but the social service officer, bemoaning the reduction in funds for cultural anthropological studies upon those that come to live in my part of the world.
Much like the entrée – a rather snapping quiche served very cold and accompanied with a splash of Meursault – my quick comment of there being a ratio of perhaps 1000 cows to each person, and that perhaps such studies were irrelevant to the local economy at present, was met with the not-to-unexpected reaction of being blutterbunged… well, not from all. The banker appeared to nod in agreement to my statement, whilst avoiding an immediate defence of his wife’s position by helping himself to more of the artichokes, and thus curtailing his ability to speak - as the eldest of the guests, he was afforded the honour of being seated closest to the kitchen, and therefore could decide what to pass down the table as it was served. Bastard. I, being the youngest, was placed at the bottom, and was responsible for accumulating the empty dishes in my area, which prevented there being space for much else. I near panicked at one stage as it appeared that my glass would have to be sacrificed for additional room – and it is a large table – but averted disaster by finishing the remainder of the quiche, and thus was able to remove the dish. Hey, if I was to forego some of the culinary presentations, I sure as hell was not going to forego feeling satiated come the end of the evening.
The conversation quickly descended into the realities on the ground, with the IT lady and her husband moving discussion into the rate of employment seen from two different professions. It’s looking grim… for those that want entry to the feast that is fulltime employment in France. With strong labour laws, and generous holiday entitlements, it is extremely costly for an employer to hire anybody, and so the recent trend the last year or so is to take on contract workers when needed - a trend that, ostensibly, is becoming increasingly permanent, albeit with a negative gradient as fewer and fewer contracts are being offered. This, I suggested, skews the real situation, but helps with the serving of official figures to the public. Turning to the banker – busily helping himself to another scoop of the Corsican veal dish, and by association, my lunch the following day - I asked what his thoughts were upon French GDP, CPI, PMI ? Whilst most present assumed a glaze not too indifferent to that seen on some of the hors d'œuvres, the banker’s response was, ‘Ah, we may have long holidays, but we are productive.’ I wish I had had a German guest at this point, as I’m sure they would have choked somewhat.
Productive, erm, with each serving of French growth forecasts, the dollop to be expected is reduced. And so it was with my dessert – an egg custardy-kind-of -thingy that each guest spooned out for themselves. To be fair to the banker, he took the least – probably stuffed with artichoke and veal – but still, I had to feign contentment at the quantities of other food that I had already consumed, and encourage my guests to eat their fill. Which they surely did, and which reminded me somewhat of how much France takes from the EU. Burp!
And so the end of the evening arrived, and with it, my chance to check on what was left. Much like the young elsewhere in Europe, I was able to find scraps here and there that would keep me going until the next day, but nothing of substance that would enable me to not have to worry too much about what I could put on the table the next day.
And no, I did not get an artichoke. Pff…
Author of: For Pip's Sake! (Available at Amazon... :-) )