All the stuff you never knew you needed to know about life in rural France.....and all the stuff the books and magazines won't tell you.
Showing posts with label French supermarkets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label French supermarkets. Show all posts

Wednesday, 7 November 2012

The Importance of the Pork Chop in Societal Change


I used to do my basic shopping in Sainsbury's in the 1970s...that era when the sight of a woman staggering out of the store under a load of loo rolls would have you dashing inside before they all disappeared from the shelves, only to return weeks later at double the price.

Bread and sugar were also susceptible to this 'now you see it now you don't' process, but as I had once lost a tooth in a slice of what was laughingly titled 'Mothers' Pride' and didn't have a sweet tooth among those remaining to me these shortages did not affect me to the same degree of urgency.
Even in that era, 'The News of The World' was only fit for bum fodder but having as a child experienced an aunt's economy measures  I preferred the stuff on rolls to the stuff cut into squares.

And let no one mention Bronco.

Not having had savings at that time I look back on it fondly as a time when inflation made my mortgage repayments look silly.
Any spare money not applied to the purchase of loo rolls was applied to paying off the mortgage in double quick time, which, years later, leaves me without a credit rating as I have never borrowed money since and banks now regard me as an client not susceptible to being fleeced and thus unwelcome.

When not employing jumble sale elbows in stacking my trolley with loo rolls against stiff opposition I would take a cast round the store.....picking up the basics, the own brands and looking at some of the novelties in the freezer cabinets before heading off to the cold meat counter to buy German breakfast sausage...liver with attitude.
Queueing as bacon was sliced...none of your packets then...I would be standing by the butchery counter, which did have items packed ready for sale, where something in particular always intrigued me.

Pork chops.

They were always packed in twos and one was always larger than the other.

It so intrigued me that eventually I asked the woman slicing breakfast sausage (without cleaning the blade after slicing bacon) why  these chops were always of differing sizes.

It's for families. The big chop is for the husband and the smaller one for the wife.

What about the kids?

They eat fish fingers.

Thus the typical English family in the opinion of the decision makers at Sainsburys.

Moving to France many years later, a supermarket was an easy way to skirt any language problems...a 'Bonjour' to the cashier and that was it.
Some of the Britpack have managed to spend more than ten years in France using this tactic.....

Supermarkets were pretty primitive in that period - some of them more like souks - and freezer cabinets were only just being introduced to the ones in my area, but, just as with Sainsburys, while cold meats were being cut to order, butcher meat and poultry was already being packed ready for sale.

Not for France a mere pair of pork chops...they came in packs of five, the top two loin chops neatly masking the three shoulder chops beneath.
Chicken breast fillets likewise.

Nor was this the whim of a sole supermarket butcher.
From Intermarche to Super U, from Auchan to Atac, from Champion to Carrefour and even Leclerc....five pork chops was the norm.

As always, I asked Madeleine.
Not that she bought meat or poultry in supermarkets: she had her own basse cour for ducks and chickens and a butcher well under the thumb, but in my early years in France she was one of the people I could turn to for information and advice.
She died years ago now, but I can still see her, looking up from her newspaper as I arrived at the back door and hear her deep voice exclaiming

Pardi! You'll never guess what's happened!

Without her, without Alice and Edith and Monsieur Untel, my life in France would have been much the poorer - and much less informed!

She, of course, had the answer.

Which was that the tax efficient French family is that which has two parents and three kids.
Thus the packs of five.
French children, it appears, do not eat fish fingers.

Originating in policies meant to increase the birth rate after the disasters of the First World War - women are still being awarded medals for having eight kids, would you believe - general tax revenues support the families which reflect the norm of producing one extra child per generation, while generous exemptions exclude the majority of such families from the privilege of paying for the services they consume.

A whole tranche of potential taxpayers escape the net.

I talked about it years later with my neighbours' daughter in law, a nurse.
She and her husband had two gorgeous little girls...but no third child.
So did this mean that the advantage of the third child was illusory?

No. Her husband's family were farmers and their tax regime already exempted them from a great deal of tax, so why go through another birth for an additional child they did not want.
A lot of her friends had had the third child under pressure from their husbands....to get the tax relief.
The farm had spared her that choice.

I have never objected to paying tax for education or for health services...vital supports for a civilised society.... but to incentivise people to produce more children than may necessarily be wanted in a world where it is finally being recognised that resources are scarce makes no sense at all.

When last shopping for my mother....though not in Sainsburys...I noticed that pork chops came as singletons...or as two of equal size....or as big packs destined for the freezer.
The British system of family support knows no norms.....












 

Sunday, 8 July 2012

Prix Choc

prix choc!prix choc! (Photo credit: baklavabaklava)
The wonderfully named Direction Generale de la Concurrence, de la Consommation et de la Repression des Fraudes (DGCCRF) has come out with a new report.

Not the one warning clubs organising bingo nights that only club members can play unless the club's officers want to be hauled before the beak and sentenced to vast sums in that they did (probably with malice aforethought) act like the licensed gambling dens run by the Corsican mafia and let in all and sundry.
So bad luck, your bingo loving granny will be turned from the door if she lives in the next village...

Nor the one warning you of what will happen to you if you are unpatriotic enough to take your holidays outside the hexagon....you will be burnt to a frazzle by the international plug adaptor you have bought to enable you to recharge your camera batteries abroad......

No, this is the one which checked the prices on the shelf against the prices at the checkout in a representative sample of supermarkets.....and discovered that progress has been made since their last report...in 2008.

How they managed to sneak that one past a government of the friends of Eddy Leclerc I'll never know, but it showed that there were anomalies in 52% of the stores visited......as against 54% this time.
Round one to the Eddy Leclercs.
However, while in 2008 7.5% of the items tested were erroneous, in 2012 only 7% made the target
Round two to the consumer organisations and bloody minded customers.

Still, the Eddy Leclercs win on points as the 2012 report shows that six out of ten errors were in favour of the supermarkets...who claim that this is down to human error.
Yes indeed, in the sense of  being less than ten out of ten.....four opportunities missed!

And what do the DGCCRF suggest?

That we keep a watchful eye on the till slip.

Thank you gentlemen.

When I was holidaying in France in the dark ages there weren't really that many supermarkets...though there were lots of mini markets....but by the time I had moved there things had changed and I have to admit to doing most of my shopping there.

I had the choice of two, equidistant from my house but in opposite directions.

One was fine, nice staff at the checkouts, helpful people on the food counters where meat was cut and served - no plastic wrapped packages then - fish scaled and cleaned and cheese kept at proper temperatures.
A sort of half way house between specialist shops and the hypermarket.
If I needed cheese to be ripe for the weekend, the cheese lady's thumb was better than an ex cathedra statement by the Pope.
The shelves were a bit of a muddle, but once I was used to it I could find the rice blindfold.

The other was distinctly different.
Apart from the patent hostility towards foreigners you needed your wits about you and your glasses at the ready.

It had several ways of inciting you to buy.

Prix Choc!
Where the only shock involved was yours as after sharp work with the remains of the mental arithmetic dinned into you at primary school you'd realised that buying the offer would cost you more than buying its component parts separately or in smaller quantities.

Offre Speciale!
So special that you wondered how desperate you would have to be to buy it.

And their favourite...
Promotion!
This meant that whatever it was it would never reappear on their shelves nomatter how much customer demand there might be.
They'd dropped onto something going cheap and that was it...now you see it now you don't.

These notices would appear on shelves all over the supermarket and even after doing your mental arithmetic you still had to be cautious.

The price announced on the Prix Choc notice would be for a specific item.....which would as likely as not be found further down the shelf, so the pack of three tins of tuna pieces you thought you had bought would turn out to be tuna lumps infused with truffle juice - nothing less would have justified the price shown when you reached the till.

You would see temptingly large lumps of cheese on Offre Speciale.....but the price quoted  was for 100 grammes rather than the kilo.....a small detail left off the notice no doubt by human error.

And if something had slipped past your vigilance the hell up at the check out was beyond belief.

You were a foreigner, you didn't understand the monetary system......

No, there wasn't a different price on the shelf.......

No, there were no staff to go and check...and if there were you went with them just in case...

Can't you just leave it?
Yes, and the rest of the shopping too.
Which I did more than once to the audible disgust of checkout lady and the vast queue which had assembled during the preceding altercation
All right for me, I had only myself to please...but not so easy for a mum with kids trying to get the  ice cream home before it melted away.
.

So why did I go there?
Because it was in the town with all the tax and administrative offices I needed to visit and I was watching the petrol gauge even then.

But it can go the other way too....

Years later, when supermarkets had become hypermarkets, I used to visit one in another town, handily near the Bricodepot where I fought it out with French plumbing parts on an all too frequent basis.

The DIY store had very early opening hours to cater for all the artisans francais who were busy buying their supplies with the view to passing them off on their clients as coming from their professional suppliers at ten times the price.
They also supplied a brilliant buffet breakfast....good bread, croissants actually made with butter, ham, pate and super coffee.....
Have to keep the artisan francais happy.

Accordingly, I would go early, make my purchase, have breakfast and still be at the hypermarket just as it opened, heading for the chicken bread.

This was the morning after the day before bread....bread with an expired sell by date...ideal for the chickens and ducks.
There were huge sacks of the stuff for a ridiculous price.

I was not alone.
There were regulars, mostly active looking pensioners and after a bit I progressed from being included in the general 'M'sieur, Dame..' greeting to being given a regular place on the grid.
A great advantage, for as the chain across the entrance came down there was a dash worthy of Formula 1 racing down the main aisle to the bakery - and woe betide the employee rash enough not to dive for cover at their approach. They stopped for nothing.
They would arrive at the side of the bakery shelves and two young men would hand out the sacks, putting them into the trolleys, whose conductors would then shoot off down to the meat counter to see what bargains might be on offer there.
I would gather my two sacks of baguettes, buy one fresh loaf and a tartane - large and faintly brown - which kept fresh for days, then follow the horde to the meat counter.

One day the young men beamed at me and hoisted into my trolley one of the expected sacks of baguettes and one of tartane, fouasse and pain aux raisins - a sort of Chelsea bun without the icing.
Every one spanking fresh and marked with the day before's date.

You're a regular now.

I became a regular at the meat counter too, now that I realised what the game was.
Chickens, pork chops, even joints marked down by half as being 'last day'.....and best of all, the day I came across another quirk of the establishment.

Hunting on the pre packed counter for pigs' tails for soup I came across a pack of enticing looking lamb chops.
Five of them...to cater for the tax efficient French family of parents and three children.
Marked at 0.01 Euro.

I wonder who they were intended for....






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