Rasmenia

A couple of months ago, I got a few messages from friends back home in the States about this:

Oh… & also, this:

For a few days, the Internet was abuzz with various articles about the Star Wars burgers in France & Belgium. Not surprisingly, those articles were riddled with comments from all of the very smart Americans who made it their mission to correct the spelling of “Dark Vador.” Even the very smart writers at Huffington Post were confused as to why the name was “misspelled.”

To avoid that here – & to prevent me from having to make fun of you – let’s clear it up right away & make it known that the character’s name in France is Dark Vador. Okay? Got it? (This translation prevents his name from being pronounced like “Dart Vah-day.”)

Now, then… moving on. As soon as Olivier & I found out about these, we knew we had to give them a try. We don’t eat at Quick very often & the closest one is about 30 minutes away, but we decided to make an exception.

The first problem was, the dates on the advertisement didn’t apply to the Quick in our area. Possibly, they were dates for the same promotion in Belgium. So… we waited. We kept an eye on the Quick advertisements & as soon as they arrived, we drove to the Quick in Chartres.

When we got there, only the Dark Burger & the Jedi Burger were available. The Vador burger would be available a month later. Okay, no problem. We immediately made plans to return in a month to get our weird, black-bunned burgers. I ordered the Dark Burger & Olivier got a Jedi Burger & as an added bonus, some cheesy stars. Cheesy stars!

Exhibit A & Exhibit B.

There was some mystery surrounding the Jedi Burger. What was it topped with? What could those mysterious chunks poking out from under the bun be? Big onion chunks? Cheese curds? Apple chunks? Marshmallows?

Seriously. Marshmallows? Sorry, people don’t eat a lot of marshmallows around here. Cheese curds? This isn’t Wisconsin. Cheese here might come in a wheel or a block, a slice or a slab, but never a squeaking curd.

As underwhelming as it is, it’s just chunks of cheese. Chunks that are melted by the time you actually have the burger right in front of you. Like most food, the real thing has nothing at all to do with what’s pictured in the advertisement.

There really is some meat & stuff in there. Honest.

As far as the taste, it was mustardy. The bun was heavily dusted with flour & it was filled with cheese & a mustard sauce. This is all according to Olivier, who was able to provide me with feedback on his Jedi burger when he wasn’t otherwise occupied.

Making Darth Maul box battle with Yoda box is actually a damn good time.

The Dark burger, much to my surprise, had a reddish-orange bun. I guess I couldn’t really see that in the ad, but I saw it right away when I opened the box. I saw somewhere, in the comment section of one of the aforementioned articles, some speculation as to what might be on the bun. Special spices? Bagel seasoning? (What is bagel seasoning?)

Well, prepare to be underwhelmed again. It just had some poppy seeds on it.

There was a black pepper kind of mayo in it. As far as I could tell, it was the exact same black pepper mayo that Quick uses for some of their other burgers, like the Quick ‘n’ Toast, which is what I typically order from there when I do go to Quick, so… really, the Dark Burger didn’t taste much different than my other visits to Quick.

I have no idea why the bun was reddish-orange. I’m guessing it’s just food coloring, since there was no special taste.

But that isn’t what you want to know, is it? You want to know what in the hell is up with that funky black bun, right?

Prepare for more disappointment.

Like I said, we made plans to return the following month so that we could try them out. Yes, we were actually willing to put those things in our mouths & bodies, in spite of the fact that neither one of us really gives much of a shit about Star Wars. (C’mon… it’s not like they were Star Trek burgers, people.)

Unfortunately, Quick fucked us. Usually, the limited edition burgers last for one month. The Dark Vador Burger? Four days. FOUR FUCKING DAYS.

Which made me think… maybe it was a little too weird for the French public to justify putting it on the menu for a full month. This wouldn’t surprise me at all. I mean, these guys feel revulsion at things like blue cake frosting or peanut butter, so the black bun might a be a bit much for anyone who’s not a full-on Star Wars nerd.

But, we did get cheesy stars. Did I mention the cheesy stars?

I’m willing to bet that we’ll get another chance. I’m sure that the next time George Lucas releases a Star Wars movie in 3D, there will be some bizarre fast food item or black bunned burger being sold in Europe that I can eat for my American friends back home.

Until then, I think I’ll be eating normal, green-colored salad. I think I might still have some star cheese floating around in my system.

“You can’t just eat good food. You’ve got to talk about it too. And you’ve got to talk about it to somebody who understands that kind of food.” ― Kurt Vonnegut

“Watch a French housewife as she makes her way slowly along the loaded stalls… searching for the peak of ripeness and flavor… What you are seeing is a true artist at work, patiently assembling all the materials of her craft, just as the painter squeezes oil colors onto his palette ready to create a masterpiece.” ― Keith Floyd

“Americans are just beginning to regard food the way the French always have. Dinner is not what you do in the evening before something else. Dinner is the evening.” ― Art Buchwald

*

A while ago, someone read several posts on this blog & said to me, “I really enjoyed reading through all of your food posts. I’m a big foodie, like you.”

Uh… what? Like me? Me? A foodie?

No.

I like to eat, sure. I love to cook & try new foods, recipes & cuisines. I like to talk about food with people who like to talk about food, who know & enjoy good food… but the term “foodie” just sounds so ridiculous. No offense to anyone (Actually, be offended if you need to be & really want to be. I’m just trying to be fucking polite.) but when someone tells me that they’re a “big foodie,” I immediately lose interest in the conversation.

I loathe the word “foodie.”

Part of the reason for this is because most people broadcasting their “foodie” status don’t seem to know much about food, they’re often just people who like to eat. This is fine. I like to eat, too. It’s fun, often delicious & it keeps me from dying, which is something I like very much about eating.

Hearing this stupid word over & over again did get me to thinking, though. Why is it that here in France, where almost everyone has an extreme appreciation for food, there is no one walking around proudly announcing what a big foodie they are?

I’ve done some digging & I’ve asked around a bit. I can’t find a direct translation. There is no French word for “foodie” because it’s some made-up American shit.

There’s épicurien: adjective; fond of or adapted to luxury or indulgence in sensual pleasures; having luxurious tastes or habits, especially in eating and drinking.

And gastronome: noun; a connoisseur of good food; gourmet; epicure.

There’s gourmet, but I’m going to go out on a limb & say that all these “foodies” aren’t gourmets. A gourmet is a connoisseur & has skills in not only preparing & serving food, but also in finding ingredients. A gourmet does not acquire this skill set from watching the Food Network or by cooking shit that comes out cans, jars or the frozen food section. (It’s okay if you think I’m a dick.)

I found the most satisfactory definitions on Urban Dictionary:

I didn’t know how to eat before moving to France. By “eat,” I don’t mean the physical act of picking up food & sticking it in my mouth, though I do admit to occasional mishaps resulting in food going in all sorts of places nowhere near my mouth.

What I’m talking about is something else. I liked eating before I moved here. I’ve always been adventurous about tasting new things. But I didn’t appreciate eating the way I do today. I didn’t know all of the things that I do now. Before my life in France, food was something to keep me alive. It was a necessity & didn’t matter much where it came from or how it was prepared, though I did prefer that it taste good as opposed to being bland or tasting like a bit of deep-fried vomit.

One day, when I was still living in Colorado, Olivier asked me if I liked mushrooms.

“No way,” I said, “Those things taste like shit. I don’t like mushrooms at all.”

“Really? Maybe you just don’t know mushrooms.”

He was right. It wasn’t enough to say that I liked or disliked mushrooms. I had to know my girolles from my cépes & morilles. One day, Olivier & I bundled ourselves up & ventured out into the freshly fallen winter snow with my father-in-law, who led us out to the forest behind his house. He explained to me where to find mushrooms, what to look for & how to tell deliciousness from crap while it’s still in the ground.

It turned out that I absolutely love mushrooms & enjoy cooking with various types of them quite often. What I didn’t like was the crappy, generic canned mushrooms that I had been fed growing up. Truly, I did not know mushrooms.

The difference between good & bad is actually quite obvious…

I’ve learned a similar lesson about various other foods. I’ve also become more aware of things like which foods & dishes come from which region & what time of year is best for eating this fruit or that vegetable.

Do I call myself a “foodie” now? Hell no.

I’ve noticed other things over the past 6 years. When I’m with French family & friends, we often talk about food. We chat about what we’re cooking, how we cook it, what we’re growing in the garden & when visiting, we bring one another food that we’ve grown or prepared.

One day, as we were all enjoying a big family lunch together & were of course, talking at great length about food, my mother-in-law said, “People who eat only to stay alive… this is so sad. This would be an unhappy life for me. Food is such a pleasure… & it’s so important for a good life.”

I found myself agreeing wholeheartedly. Since leaving the U.S., I’ve learned to truly appreciate food. From strolling around outdoor markets in search of fresh ingredients, to preparing & cooking… all the way to sitting down to a long, leisurely meal with my husband, I’ve come to genuinely enjoy eating.

So when I ask about foodies in France, the answer I get is, “What? This is an American thing to put these labels on people, or to tell people what you are. To appreciate food… it’s just… normal. French people know the importance of producing, eating & enjoying good food. There are no ‘French foodies’. Everyone here loves food. Gastronomy is part of our culture.”

Maybe it’s not that I became a “foodie,” but simply became more healthy & aware of what I’m putting in my body. Maybe I’ve just adapted to the lifestyle & eating habits of my adopted country.

It doesn’t matter. I still think the word “foodie” still sounds retarded.

 

“Man can not live by bread alone … he must have peanut butter.” – Bill Cosby

“I mostly eat peanut butter sandwiches. Peanut butter and banana, peanut butter and jelly, peanut butter and potato chips, peanut butter and olives, and peanut butter and marshmallow goo. So sue me, I like peanut butter.” – Janet Evanovich

“Peanut butter is the paté of childhood.” – Florence Fabricant

*

I’ve heard a lot of people say that the French hate Americans. Before I moved to France, a few people asked me, “You sure you want to move there? They hate us in France.”

After I moved here, a couple of people asked about me when talking with my relatives, or mutual friends. “What’s she doing over there? Doesn’t she know that French people hate Americans?”

I’m happy to tell you that this is complete bullshit. These are the concerns of the gullible, the ignorant & those who have never set foot on European soil. I’ve been here for 6 years & haven’t encountered any serious anti-Americanism. (Sure, France has it’s own set of gullible & ignorant fear mongers, but that’s another story.)

No, French people in general don’t have a collective hatred for Americans. If you don’t know, they rather like us, even if we leave them shaking their heads from time to time. Many of them do, however, share a strong disdain for something that we Americans hold dear. Something that is part of our… Americanness. For many of us, a taste from our childhood.

What they have is anti-peanut butterism. Yes. It’s a thing. A very real thing.

The average American is easier to tolerate than this, is what I'm saying.

Before we were married, when I was still living in Colorado, Olivier & I would engage in lengthy debates on the phone or via email about which is better: peanut butter, or Nutella. I don’t get the connection, but many French people will scrunch up their face, or grimace at the mention of peanut butter. Then they will often respond with something like, “I prefer Nutella”.

Sure, Nutella is good, but it’s chocolatey-hazelenut cream. As far as the taste & consistancy goes, it has jack shit to do with peanut butter.

Well, they're both sold in jars. So there's that.

It took a while, but Olivier came around. One day I made him a toasted peanut butter & jelly sandwich. He nodded his head as he chewed, looked down at the gooey deliciousness in his hand & he saw that it was good.

Then he said, “I still prefer Nutella.”

It’s been a few years & occasionally, he’ll make himself a PB & J for breakfast & each time, I smugly bask in my successful conversion. While there are a few French people who have tried peanut butter & liked it, their numbers are few. Successful conversions are rare.

We almost always have some peanut butter in the house. He eats it on his own, yet he still tells me, “I prefer Nutella”. Each time, my response is the same: I take a deep breath & say, “IT HAS FUCK ALL TO DO WITH GODDAMN NUTELLA.”

Or something like that. But, hey… whatever. At least he came around. We still eat Nutella on crêpes. It all evens out.

I’ve heard countless complaints from Americans living in France that peanut butter doesn’t exist here. That’s just more bullshit. There’s peanut butter all over the fucking place. When we were living in Paris, I often found it at the grocery store. The problem was, I usually only found very small jars of nasty-ass Skippy for about 5 Euros a pop. Yeah… a small jar of peanut butter in Paris was between $7 – $8. Lame, right?

Later, I found bigger jars for 1-2 Euros each from a British food supplier. I had never heard of the brand before, but it tasted better than Skippy.

Then we made an even better discovery in a Chinese grocery store: big-ass jars of African peanut butter for 1 Euro. The best part: it was that natural kind of peanut butter that separates so you get the oil pool on the top. I thought to myself, “Of course they have plenty of it at the Chinese market. Duh.” It makes sense. I use peanut butter for cooking Thai food more than anything else.

So, to recap: 1) Most French people hate peanut butter, but like Americans. 2) Americans who claim France has no peanut butter are either full of shit, or haven’t looked in more than one place. This is likely an indication that they have bigger problems than a lack of peanut butter.

I’ve heard Olivier telling other French people of what he’s learned. “It’s not bad,” he says. “A little bit on toast with some jam. It’s pretty good.”

They’ll shake their heads & say things like: “It has too much fat. It isn’t good for you.” Ok, sure… there’s some fat in peanut butter. But this is France, where everything is drowning in butter & foie gras is a food group. I’m not buying it. It is good for you, if you don’t eat several jars at a time.

I’ve also heard reasons like, “It’s dirty” & “It looks too much like vomit” or “It’s too sweet”. Um… I have to point out that if your peanut butter is sweeter than Nutella, something is wrong with it. If anything, peanut butter should be a bit on the salty side.

I think this means they're not ready for the Fluffernutter.

When we tell the peanut butter haters that we get peanut butter from Africa (not the U.S.) & make Thai food with it, the response is, “That’s not the same. That’s beurre de cacahuètes. It’s different.” Look, smooshed peanuts by any other name are still smooshed peanuts.

One thing I’ve noticed & which has been pointed out on this website as well is the fact that there’s a shit load of peanut-flavored snacks available at the grocery store here in France. Peanuts are served for apéritif quite often. So, to clarify: they don’t hate peanuts, or the deliciousness of artificial peanutty flavoring, just peanut butter.

Yeah, I don’t get it, either. But, when I was little, I used to eat peanut butter & butter sandwiches. I’m thinking I might be able to sell them on this. If I slather enough butter on it… & serve it with a glass of wine & a side of foie gras.