It was on the train from Paris to London, at the end of the short holiday that me and my girlfriend enjoyed in the French capital, that I heard an American girl say to a couple of her compatriots: "They really love eating. They are always eating and I can't understand why they don't get fat!"
Something urged me to stand and say: "Dear girl, this is the difference between a civil population and the barbarians." I didn't say it, and I'm regretting it. Just a little bit.
I don't believe that many people, among English mother tongue speakers, can understand the subtle pleasure of having dinner with salmon, white wine and limoncello. I don't intend, here, to praise the crapula. But why don't take pleasure in something we have to do anyway? Many Britons I met are like they have the gustative buds sanded down by the junk food they are used eating. All they are interested in is just fulling up their bellies. And, apparently, many Americans as well. A big part of the joy I experimented in Paris was due to the food, about which I wrote here. The French cusine has been the first cusine out of two in the world to receive the recognition of Human Heritage from UNESCO, and honestly, it's something that everybody should learn to appreciate. Because some food don't just feed the body, but can feed the spirit too.
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