If things had been different we would have been living here together; or over there, in his own American dream. Antoine had always wanted to go to the American West but he’d never done so. I knew I represented his dream because I was the one who’d gone away. He’d never followed.
I might have achieved his ambition, but did his situation correspond to my image of a perfect family life?
Were we both disenchanted by the reality of our dreams or illusions: the American West being no more than a faded legend, and Antoine’s perfect family life being not quite so perfect after all?
I could feel some tension between Antoine and his wife and kids. The boys not eating with us had been a disappointment for me.
I didn’t really want to think about family dramas. I’ve never understood why people from the same family, bound by blood, just can’t get along. They should stick together since the outside world often isn’t easy to face.
I suppose it was because of these cheerless thoughts I had about families that I was still living by myself at thirty-four, believing that happiness didn’t depend on having a family of my own.
I was once again staring at the landscape while my thoughts kept drifting back to a golden past. Meanwhile, Delphine and Gégé were deep in conversation.
Suddenly I heard Antoine asking, ‘Why aren’t you moving back, Julie? You keep looking longingly at the landscape,’ and his question broke the spell of my nostalgia.
‘I’ll never move back here, Antoine, and you know it.’
He sighed and got up to serve another round of drinks.
How could I ever come back here? I was too different now. And let’s face it: had the place been that great, would I have left in the first place? When I’d been at high school I’d found everything boring because my brother was always talking about exotic countries, and it had made me long to see the world even though I’d had a boyfriend I’d been really, really attached to – Antoine. Antoine had wanted to go away, too, but he hadn’t done anything to make it happen, preferring instead to travel vicariously through films, where everything had been exactly the way he’d wanted it to be, and where he had always been the hero.
I still didn’t have a steady companion, but I did have an exciting life in Chicago. At least I believed so …
Once again, I didn’t want to pursue the thought. I wanted to enjoy the company of the people I was with right then: Antoine and Delphine – my two dear childhood friends – and Gégé.
The fromage blanc was wonderful. I appreciated the produce of the terroir all the more each time I returned.
After the main course we took a break and started talking about people from the village and what had happened to them – still single, or married with kids or divorced, or dead, and so on.
We hadn’t smiled much since the evening had begun. Too many memories, perhaps.
I needed the excitement of a big city. True, food-wise it wasn’t as great in Chicago, nothing like as tasty as the food here, but I managed.
After my three friends wondered how I could survive without all this delicious food, I heard myself saying, ‘Well, when you’re open-minded, and if you cook yourself, you can live pretty much in any country and appreciate the local produce. You know, there is something that I really like back in the States: potlucks. I love the concept of every guest bringing a dish to a party. It’s a good way to try all kinds of different foods, and they’re all home-made. My friends and I agreed a strict rule at the outset that every dish had to be cooked from scratch.’
‘That sounds interesting,’ Antoine ventured. ‘But when I’m invited to someone’s home, I’m not supposed to cook, am I?’
‘As if you ever do anything in the kitchen,’ replied Gégé, her tone still disarmingly sweet. ‘I think it’s a good idea,’ she added, probably reflecting that she could have cooked less for tonight, even if she had enjoyed it.
‘Anyway, yours is the best pâté I’ve eaten for a long time,’ I complimented her, ‘and your fromage remains the most delicious of all the amazing things you make.’
Gégé made her own Charolais, a cheese that could be eaten fresh, slightly ripened, or hard, when it turned a pale bluish-grey. She stored the cheeses to dry them in small wooden cages, then stood them on racks to mature.
‘Thanks,’ Gégé answered. ‘You see, when people are too used to good things, they take them for granted.’
Antoine didn’t say anything, but I sensed that the remark was aimed at him.
‘You could export them to the US. You’d make a fortune.’
‘And turn the pleasure of making hand-crafted cheese into a factory operation? No, thanks!’ And she laughed for the first time that evening. ‘Besides, American regulations concerning imported dairy products are ridiculous.’
Gégé and Antoine raised a few chickens, rabbits, goats and pigs besides their cattle. So they made all their own pâtés, ham and dried sausages, which represented a tremendous amount of work.
How long had we been sitting at the table? Night was beginning to fall. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get up from my chair very gracefully because I was a little tipsy, and I certainly felt full!
I was glad I was wearing a simple dress that wasn’t too tight. I always brought this forgiving kind of clothing when I came to Burgundy, knowing that I’d eat a lot while I was away, as I was invited to the houses of so many old friends. Then I would go back to Chicago and start a serious diet to lose the three or four pounds I’d gained.
For dessert we had fresh red fruit from the garden: strawberries, gooseberries and raspberries served with crème fraîche from the farm. The taste of fruit and vegetables eaten in season was a revelation! How could I have forgotten it?
I loved the tart flavour of the berries as well as their ruby colour, which blended with the unctuous white crème fraîche: un pur régal for the eyes as well as the taste buds!
In Chicago, I ate strawberries or tomatoes all year round, but most of the time they were flavourless even if they looked perfect. I resolved to eat only seasonal local food from then on, and I promised myself I’d go to the pumpkin festival in Morton when I was back.
My aunt Denise had said the previous night that you could buy anything any time nowadays, even here in rural France. She’d taken as an example foie gras, which used to be reserved only for Christmas time, but was now available all year round. The possibility of having anything we want any time gives us more choice, of course, but it also means we lose some of the nice traditions linked to food, which were a way to celebrate both the food itself and the culture that went with it.
Gégé stood up. ‘I’m sorry but I have to leave you,’ she declared apologetically. ‘I’ve got to go to a meeting of the town council. That’s why we had an early dinner. I’m the mayor’s assistant.’
‘Of course, no problem,’ Delphine and I said at the same time.
Gégé came over to me and we kissed each other.
‘Julie, I’m so happy you came tonight. I hope to see you again before you go back to Chicago.’ Then she murmured, ‘Delphine has convinced me to come with her when she visits you. I’ll leave the children with Antoine …’
‘And then we can have a really nice girly time,’ I replied, which provoked a duet of giggling.
Actually, I was rather surprised by Gégé’s decision, but also overjoyed by it, and I told her so.
After Gégé had gone, Antoine looked at me in silence, though I could tell from his eyes what he was thinking.
I thought he was about to speak when we heard a cry from inside the house. He got up and quickly went to the kitchen, Delphine and I following in his wake. We were curious to see the next instalment in this family saga: how to react when your children are naughty.
The kids were running round the table, having an ice-cream fight. Their bowls were almost empty. Their Game Boys had been set aside, along with a couple of small empty Coca-Cola bottles.
Coca-Cola seemed to have replaced the wine-coloured water I used to
have with my Sunday meal.
The TV was on, showing something that seemed a little too violent in my opinion.
What chaos! This scene didn’t fit my idyllic picture of rural family life at all.
‘Stop this!’ shouted Antoine. ‘You’re going to clean up all this mess and then go to bed. No more ice cream for two weeks.’
‘We don’t care!’ was the immediate response from Mathis.
‘I don’t want to go to bed now,’ complained Bruno.
‘After what you’ve done, it’s definitely time for bed, and, besides, tomorrow you’ve got to get up early to go to school!’ Antoine seized the Game Boys. ‘Do as I say, or no more of these either.’
This seemed to have the desired effect and the boys started cleaning up right away.
Now I had the answer to the problem of what to do when your children were naughty: confiscate their Game Boys. I don’t like these gadgets; I believe they make children rather stupid.
Antoine turned the TV off, and after the boys had finished their cleaning up, he took them to their room. I waved good night to them.
‘When are you coming back, Julie?’ I heard Mathis asking sadly, but Antoine marched him away before I could answer.
Delphine and I went back to the terrace and sat in silence. After a while we started talking about her and Gégé’s upcoming visit to Chicago.
‘They’ll leave us alone now because I told them that they wouldn’t get their Game Boys back if they didn’t go to sleep soon,’ said Antoine bitterly when he returned, dumping the wretched things on the table. He sighed loudly. ‘They both drive me nuts! They just don’t appreciate what they’ve got here …’
‘Why is that?’ I asked.
Antoine didn’t answer. He was still irritated with his children.
‘The evening started well. We were all happy to see you. They even wore their cowboy outfits for you, and—’
‘I didn’t spend much time with them,’ I said apologetically.
‘It’s my fault; I wanted to talk to you in peace.’
Delphine and I both knew that Antoine was dying to spend time on his own with me, but I couldn’t allow that because I knew he would only put into words what I’d read in his eyes earlier.
‘And I’m not always that patient with them,’ he confessed.
‘Well, if I may say,’ replied Delphine, ‘like Jean-Denis and I, you and Gégé are both parents of the twenty-first century, working a lot – and more – on the farm, always ferrying the children around in the car, since children nowadays can’t just enjoy being at home. They always need to be busy going to play some kind of sport when they are not playing on their computers or watching TV. Plus, Gégé’s involvement with the town council takes time. The boys’ friends at school also have parents who are very busy. It doesn’t matter if they live in the countryside or not; they come home in the evening and their parents are too tired to spend time with them. Most children are just stuck in front of the TV, or left to play with their electronic games, and given whatever food they want to eat. On TV, they watch happy kids having happy pizza or burger meals from fast-food chains.’
‘That’s too much of a cliché! And not here in France, please!’ I exclaimed.
‘You’re so naïve, Julie. Europe is changing. You don’t have children; it’s hard for you to understand what it’s like,’ Delphine replied.
‘I know,’ I said, acquiescing.
‘Delphine is right,’ sighed Antoine. ‘Mathis and Bruno don’t want to eat the healthy food from the farm. They say it’s not cool; their friends at school eat processed junk food – even here in France, as you said. And then, because I’m tired I don’t have time to be more strict, so I don’t impose any rules for healthy eating on them. In fact, we hardly eat together.’
I was speechless. The idealised image of the family sitting round the dinner table talking about their day was fast disappearing from my mind.
‘Things have changed here since you left. Lots of fast-food restaurants have opened and they’re full most of the time.’
Delphine acknowledged what Antoine had said with a nod, looking at me with sad eyes.
‘I didn’t expect that at all,’ I said quietly.
‘And Gégé lets them do whatever they want, since she’s the one who spends the most time with them,’ added Antoine.
‘That’s easy to say,’ Delphine replied quickly. ‘Stop being so macho, Antoine! You pretend to be firm, but it seems to me that you leave far too much to Gégé. You are their father …’
‘But I work harder than she does.’
And I know you blame her because you married her on the rebound.
‘Not so sure about that,’ Delphine said. ‘You know, I’m glad Jean-Denis isn’t a dinosaur like you. I wouldn’t have been able to stand it.’
Agreeing with her, I told Antoine how hard women worked nowadays, having to take care of the house and follow their own careers. Most men, even in the new millennium, didn’t help around the house that much, after all, despite TV ads showing the occasional token man changing a nappy or cooking a meal, an apron tied round his waist.
‘Do you take time with your kids at all?’ I asked him next.
‘It’s not that easy. They sometimes follow me around the fields …’
‘What do you do in the evening? You said that you don’t even eat together.’
‘We don’t have the same schedule. Living on a farm is tough, you know. I eat later with Gégé, watching the news on TV.’
I could imagine how little conversation there would be. And how could anyone appreciate a meal with depressing images constantly on the screen?
‘After the news, I usually put a movie on. I still love American Westerns and gangster films …’
‘I wish we could have had an American Bourguignon evening with the boys. They were so happy to show me their cowboy outfits. Maybe we can do something at your house, Delphine, before I go. I’ll cook American for everyone.’
‘What a great idea!’
After we’d talked about how we were going to organise an American Bourguignon barbecue, Delphine went back to the issue of how things had changed.
‘Life in the countryside isn’t what it used to be, you know, even in our beloved Burgundy, Julie. It seems that local people eat less and less farm produce; they usually just sell it at the markets. The tourists who come from all over Europe love it.’
Could things have changed so much since I’d left fifteen years before? Did the changes seem so drastic because I didn’t return very often? Tonight, I suspected, I’d seen a genuine picture of family life in the twenty-first century. But were people so caught up in their daily lives that they failed to see the insidious changes eroding it little by little?
‘My mother blames TV,’ Delphine went on. ‘She keeps reminding me that when she was growing up, she didn’t have one. Sure, everyone was busy on the farm, but free time was spent together as a family, not living other people’s lives through a TV screen. Maybe people back then were more naïve, but they were also more relaxed, and not constantly bombarded with images of violence and meanness on TV. Sometimes I worry that we’re merely animals, avid for violence and destruction. Are we going back to a time when primal instincts were all that mattered?’
‘There are people who can still appreciate the splendours the countryside has to offer,’ I said, willing myself to be optimistic.
‘The people who really appreciate it are the tourists Delphine mentioned earlier – mostly people from England, the Netherlands and Switzerland. They don’t know how hard it is working in agriculture. Some of them buy the old farms that have been deserted because they can no longer be run profitably. The good thing is these people have the money to renovate the old properties tastefully, but none of this solves the problems of farming these days. The small farmer is finished anyhow, swallowed up by the big agricultural corporations,’ explained Antoine.
It’s not only in farming, actually. All the little fish in this
world are being gobbled up by greedy bigger fish.
Delphine added, ‘That’s why my sister and her husband opened a rural guesthouse. When they saw how hard it was running my parents’ farm, they decided to renovate it. They also sell home-made cheese and jam. There’s not much money in it, but not so much stress either.’
‘The countryside and its food seem to have become a tourist business, then,’ I concluded.
‘Yes, you could say that,’ Delphine agreed. ‘I’m afraid that the finest produce will soon only be available to an elite that can afford to pay for it.’
‘This new trend is called le tourisme rural,’ added Antoine. ‘You know, Julie, tonight I felt a little upset because I didn’t want to show you how things have changed here.’
Looking at the Game Boys on the table, Delphine said, ‘When we were growing up, we didn’t have all this technology that seem to control life nowadays – computers, TVs, DVDs, mobile phones and so on. Do you remember how much fun we had when we played outside, even if it was wintertime?’
‘Mathis and Bruno play with their stupid Game Boys most of the time. I confess that we bought them for them. But we had to, otherwise they would have felt different from their friends at school,’ Antoine explained quietly.
I thought sadly about my neighbourhood in Chicago, where I never saw any children playing outside.
‘Yes, things have changed.’
The three of us sighed loudly, our eyes wandering the dark landscape of the night.
‘But we have to live in the present and make the most of it,’ Delphine said, determined to be positive. ‘Antoine, bring us some of your vieux marc de Bourgogne. That will perk us up a bit!’
Antoine nodded and got up quickly to get his famous homemade brandy that warmed the heart and soul.
I knew how we would finish the evening now. A slight, sweet drunkenness would steer us on to happy subjects, silly jokes or old French songs. We’d end up believing that we could still relive the past – for one evening, anyway.
I’d then take my plane back to the New World, thinking that I was truly happy in Chicago, but still wondering if Antoine could have been the love of my life after all.
Freedom Fries and Cafe Creme Page 17