What about the food situation when you’re 15 or 2 x 15? Here’s a post about eating habits when you’re 15 or 30, in 6 – very subjective – keywords.
The following blogpost is a tribute to my colleagues – who probably liked me until they read this -, French people and the few hipsters I know. If you’re a nutritionist, please, don’t be mad at me.
Why?
At 15: Simple. Because you have to grow. Except if, like me, you reached your current height at 10. And you’re also always hungry.
At 30: You like to tell people that it’s because you enjoy the experience of eating, the flavours, the scents, the textures – how food wakes up all of your senses. But the truth is, you’re still always hungry. And you have to share it with everyone. If you’re hungry, they have to be hungry too. Otherwise you’re just a freak with no control on your appetite. The Cookie Monster reincarnated. Garfield. A bottomless pit.
Nutella:
At 15: YOU EAT IT. You eat it no matter what, like it’s the last damn thing you would do before a nuclear disaster wipes out the planet (I watch too much of “The 100”). Like a dream made of hazelnuts and tons of sugar. You can finish a jar in one day. One hour if you just got dumped.
At 30: YOU EAT IT. You eat it no matter what, like it’s the last damn thing you would do before a nuclear disaster wipes out the planet (I watch too much of “The 100”). Like a dream made of hazelnuts and tons of sugar. You can finish a jar in one day. One hour if you just got dumped.
Except that this time, you always have a friend to remind you that you should not have palm oil, so you change for a similar, more environment-friendly spread, and then you realise that this same friend has finished the Nutella jar, “because nothing tastes exactly like Nutella”.
Croissants:
At 15: You go to the bakery after school with what is left of your pocket money and you buy a croissant (only one) because you can’t afford more – generally because you have spent the rest on drugs.
At 30: You just wait for one colleague to bring croissants (yes, plural) at the office. When you see them typing in the internal chat to announce to the entire floor that they brought croissants, you literally jump out of your chair, push anyone who’s standing in your way, run to your colleague’s desk, and say, out of breath (but totally worth it): “I heard you brought croissants”. And when you feel your international colleagues are judging you, just go with this perfect, unbeatable excuse: “I am French”.
Frenchie (speaking of):
At 15: Well, at 15, you definitely don’t appreciate French food for what it is. To you, it’s just food. What your father or mother prepares for dinner, or the “jambon-beurre” (ham-butter) sandwich you buy for lunch. And the canteen’s “rognons”. Don’t ask. And anyway, you don’t have a lot of money to spend on food, because remember, you spent the rest on drugs.
At 30: You’re now a wise, arrog… proud French, who knows what food and wine really taste like. You despise people who don’t eat fresh vegetables of the “marché”, who don’t spend the afternoon cooking a coq-au-vin, you have to explain everything to your international friends… But more importantly, you talk about food while you’re eating. And if you happen to eat with an Italian friend, well, buona fortuna.
Restaurants:
At 15: You’re just 15, so obviously, “restaurants” is McDonalds.
At 30: For some dark, unexplained reason, you have become either your parents, going to restaurants that have been recommended by your friends, or worse: going to the same restaurant every month, like a weird ritual – OR you have become some sort of hipster, trying out all the new vegan, avocado, healthy juices restaurants in town.
Vegetables:
At 15: Sorry, the what?
At 30: You have discovered avocado and though it’s not environment-friendly either, you eat avocado at breakfast in a smoothie, at lunch on a piece of bread, at dinner in a salad. Your world has become a giant avocado. You also discovered pizzas with cauliflower dough. And you’re not sure if it’s vegetables, but you also eat hummus all the time. Sometimes with avocado.
Claire fait des histoires 