How Long is Too Long at the Table: The French Gastronomic Meal

Wait, she said. Let me show you. I saved some menus.

After a rummage in an upstairs cupboard, she returned, and spread them out over the kitchen table.

She had a collection of menus from gastronomic meals in the Gers, spanning years. Some are more elaborate than others, some are handwritten, some were typewritten. All are copious. All lasted for hours.

This Meal, The French Gastronomic Meal, has been inscribed, since 2010, on the UNESCO list of The Intagible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. In other words, sitting down for a lengthy, multi-course meal is of value. To humanity.

On its website, the French Agriculture Ministry explains why this matters. It is because « at 12:30 pm every day, more than 54% of the French population are seated around a dining table. » Compare this to the Brits who can only manage a mere 17% by 1:30 pm (as of 2019, these stats btw). Taking the time to gather for a meal is central to this event; it cannot happen quickly because the time spent preparing not only the food but also the table, as well as the time spent enjoying it, is what makes this worthwhile. The emphasis is on how long it takes. It is about the time.1

It is important to stress that The French Gastronomic Meal does not represent how the French eat in their homes every day. Nothing would ever get done. Everyone would be blimps with liver issues.

A gastronomic meal is a special occasion thing. Like a sit-down dinner for a wedding, except it does not get reserved just for weddings.

There are many excellent sentences in the UNESCO decree; I will leave you to find your favourite, but here is one of mine: « The gastronomic meal emphasizes togetherness, the pleasure of taste, and the balance between human beings and the products of nature.»

See for yourself here.

Amongst the menu cards spread out on my friend’s kitchen table that day, many were for wedding feasts, but there were also school inaugurations; important in the life of a village, and communions. She could not remember what all of them celebrated, but all of them were expansive.

We looked through the menus and commented on the courses.

So much meat, she laughed.

And almost always hors d’oeuvres variés following the potage; often a clear broth. The broth might have tapioca in it, or not, but its presence was a nod to whatever meat was to follow. She could not be sure what exactly constituted the hors d’oeuvres but, she said, it most likely included hollowed out tomatoes filled with salade russe; a salad of diced cooked potatoes, carrots and peas in mayonnaise. There would have been other cold salads, carottes rapées and maybe beets in vinaigrette.

There was always more than one dessert. If it was a wedding, it would include a pièce montée, aka croquembouche; the towering French wedding cake of cream-filled choux puffs held in place by solidified caramel. Almost every single meal ends with a corbeille de fruits, literally a fruit basket, most likely with whole fruits not necessarily fruit salads.

Of course, the wines are listed, several colors and often including fizz (mousseux or specifically, champagne). Because these are all menus from meals in Le Gers, they almost always finish with Armagnac alongside the coffee.

She lamented, my village friend, the absence of regular feasts nowadays. She can remember a time when they were more frequent.

Everyone is in such a hurry now, she said.

I am happy to report that, while not frequent, there have been gastronomic meals since my arrival in Fourcès.

One of these, this past September, was put together by various village associations. The reason was, loosely, to celebrate all the volunteers who supported the massive village Moules-Frites dinner held earlier in the summer.2

A meal to celebrate a meal. 

Also invited was every member of every local amateur fishing organization in the area. It was more about the fishing, if I’m honest. The mayor is a fishing fanatic.

The reason was not important; it happened. Pretty much everyone in the vicinity was there.

We arrived, my husband and I, at the salle des fêtes at 12:30.

It was already in full swing. The apéro was flowing and David (pronounced Dah-veed in French) was manning the kitchen fires. He is a village resident and his day job is as chef at an EPHAD, an old-people’s home for want of a better translation. I need to find out which one because that is where I want to end up. He also used to own and cook at the second village restaurant, open only on weekends, but it all got too much so he closed the restaurant in 2022. Needless to say, he knows what he is doing and his ability to create a flawless meal for the masses is like nothing I have ever experienced.

Temperatures were in the 30’s (celsius; high 80’sF) but this did not dissuade anyone from enjoying steaming bowls of fish soup, a meltingly tender braised pork dish with gratin dauphinois, cheese, etc etc (there were more courses than this), doused at the beginning with Floc and finished with Armagnac poured by the Mayor. Red and white Côtes de Gascogne in glasses throughout.

My husband could not get over how much time we spent at the table.

I was amazed we — everyone at the tables — never ran out of things to talk about.

My husband and I left some time after 5 pm. The first diners to go, almost.

He still talks about that meal.

Lunch lasted until dinner, he says.

I cannot think of a better way to spend the day.

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