Paris Do, Paris Don't

#74 DO La galette des Rois

It’s that time of year again for those flat golden flaky cakes to start popping up everywhere from a box at your local Monoprix to your neighborhood boulangerie, it’s La galette des Rois. The french hate monarchy for obvious reasons and take great pleasure in the idea that some fancy kings had to give a lowly barn baby some gifts, très égalité. The French celebrate this special moment of monarchical humiliation with a traditional cake during L’Epiphanie. A strange set of rituals surrounds the consumption of this holiday dessert as a tiny Christ Child figurine is baked into the galette and then ends up concealed inside a flaky slice on an unsuspecting diner’s plate. Not surprisingly, the only way the French can stomach Jesus (like anything) is if he is buried in layers of butter, flour and sugar. To further punctuate their general disdain for Christ, whomever ends up with the baby Jesus in their mouth has to wear a humiliating Burger King crown and is obliged to buy the cake for the next year’s celebration…either that, or they might just die, sort of like the French equivalent of Russian roulette: responsibility or death, both equally grim conclusions. Choking hazards aside, using delicious sweets against both monarchy and the Church is an effective way to instill in children republican ideals while still making way for yet another public holiday, mission accomplished France—power to the people, power to the pastry!

#73 DON’T Be Naughty

Nothing says Christmas quite like a little corporal punishment. The French have a special Yuletide character that not only spreads Christmas joy but also quite literally beats it into people. I’m talking about the dear French Christmas cohort, Père Fouettard. While Anglo-Saxons believe that naughty chilluns deserve an innocuous lump of coal from Santa, the French believe Santa flies around accompanied by a homicidal sadomasochist with a tinge of pedophilia named Père Fouettard who gives naughty children a whipping if they don’t behave. Legend has it that Ol’ Père Fouettard drugged some schoolboys slit their throats then chopped them into pieces and stewed them in a barrel until a kinder Père Noël found the boy’s bodies and forced the repentant Fouettard into a life of x-mas servitude. Under Père Noël’s command, Fouettard is armed with a cat o’ nine tails and must beat the naughty out of brats from Christmas last. I’m sure this is both a constructive and therapeutic outlet for this psychopath, who knew St. Nick was so New Age?! I don’t know about you, but this tradition certainly would’ve scared the naughty right out of me; no wonder the French are so polite, quiet and well behaved, they were raised believing a homicidal maniac was just waiting to drop down their chimney and beat the crap out of them. The moral of the story is: if you find yourself in France during the holiday season, you better watch out, because Santa Claus +1 is coming to town.

fun fact: did I mention he usual appears in blackface next to Santa during Christmas festivities.

#72 DON’T Mexican

While there are a lot of things in Paris to gripe about, expats just love to whine about how much they miss Mexican food. However, expats need to shut their enchilada holes and realize that Parisians don’t do Mexican food (I’m sorry but cactus/candelaria/mexi&co just don’t cut it), so stop trying to make it happen here. There are a few things inherently wrong with Mexican cuisine for the French: strike one is it lacks butter but demands deep frying, strike two is that corn is the staple, and the final nail in the cuisine coffin is that it’s spicy, the French palate is so weak that even ketchup makes their eyes water. Parisians also hate eating with their hands—whether it be dipping chips, holding a huge drippy taco, tostada, fajita, taquito—Dios mio, keep it at a fourchette’s length! There’s simply nothing polite about the consumption of a monster california super mega grande carne burrito, the closest Parisians come to such savagery is an elegantly folded crepe with a three filling limit. You wouldn’t go to Guadalajara and expect to find a perfect tradition, so why would you reckon the reverse. If you want Mexican food go to Mexico because the French Mexican’t.

#71 DO David Lebovitz

If the opportunity presents itself, definitely DO David Lebovitz. He’s cute, funny, has impeccable taste buds and is probably a sensitive and decent lay. Unfortunately, David doesn’t strike me as a floozy so I recommend you do the second best thing and religiously follow his blog. Mark my words, David will never lead you astray when you get caught breaking post #7.

#70 DO Beurre

We all know certain things are just better here, be it croissants, madeleines, chocolate, escargot, béchamel, caramel, etc., but to explain the source of these culinary feats we simply need to identify the common denominator: le mighty beurre. There is something magical about the butter in France, it is so delicious, so sweet, so salty, so creamy—you eat it on anything and everything, you will never tire of it and you probably can even eat it plain (you know who you are). One really has not experienced butter until you’ve unwrapped a brick of this dairy d’or of France. Luckily, there is enough red wine flowing around here to cancel out the negative effects of the saturated fat in your arteries, so it’s all good. Just remember when you come to Paris next, buy a warm baguette slather on le beurre and suddenly Brando’s Last Tango in Paris anal scene will make a lot more sense (dirty old man or passionate expat foodie!?!)…Either way, butter ‘er up, this shit is golden!