French Kids Eat Everything (22 page)

“Not snacking will mean that Sophie won't do as well in school. Snacking stabilizes blood sugar levels. She
needs
to snack, or else she won't be able to concentrate.” I finished, ominously, with “You know what
I'm
like when I get low blood sugar. Cutting out snacks will just mean more family fights and more bad behavior.”

“She's doing fine so far this year,” Philippe retorted, “and she hasn't been allowed to snack at school at all.” This was true. I was actually not so secretly proud of how well Sophie had learned French, adapted to the classroom, and risen to the challenge of an eight-hour school day at such a young age. But I had one more argument up my sleeve.

“Moving to France has been really stressful for the girls. Snacks are reassuring for them. The girls need their bedtime snacks—it's a routine that has stayed the same while so much around them has changed. And they like their morning snacks on the weekends; it's something they look forward to. Let's just go easy on them,” I pleaded.

“I think,” Philippe replied firmly, “that we would fight less about snacks if we limited them to once a day, only at the
goûter
, just like all the other French kids. Right now, the kids know that snacks are open to negotiation. They have morning snacks, afternoon snacks, and bedtime snacks. And they want more. So they ask to snack all the time. And they persist even when we say no. That's what is creating the stress around snacking.”

I wondered whether his mother had been coaching him, but I also had to admit that he might be right. Despite my commitment to French Food Rule #2, I was still using snack food as a substitute for discipline. This made things easier in the short term: I didn't have to teach my daughters the patience they needed to wait in line at the bank or the grocery store because snacks would achieve the same result, without stress. But there was a drawback: once I'd set up the expectation that they'd get a snack at the checkout, the habit was hard to break. And my girls expected snacks in lots of places, at lots of different times. So they ended up snacking randomly, often impulsively, and sometimes pretty much continuously throughout the day. The kids' demands for snacks tended to intensify in the late afternoon and peak right before dinnertime. If I gave in, they usually filled up on cookies, bread and butter, or baguette. I'd spend quality time with my B.B. Kook, only to have them pick at the tasty, healthy things I was serving at dinner. I could see the advantages of reducing or banning snacks. But I feared the whining, crying, and tantrums that would result.

True, the French kids around us weren't throwing tantrums over missed snacks. In fact, they didn't even seem to miss them. They loved their
goûter
, but since they'd never seen people around them eating in between meals, it basically didn't occur to them to ask.

Still, I didn't quite believe that
our
kids could behave like this. So my in-laws waged a quiet campaign. My mother-in-law casually brought up the subject of snacks. And so did Philippe's cousins. And my sister-in-law. All of this made me defensive, even as I had to admit that what they were saying made a lot of sense. Looking back, I now realize that I was feeling homesick and defensive about being a foreigner. Snacking had become one of my primary sources of comfort. And, resentful of the villagers' apparent lack of interest in befriending me, I wanted to hold on to snacking as a childish assertion of my identity.

The turning point happened the night before Easter. A friend of ours back home was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. And one of Sophie's best friends in Vancouver lost a molar to cavities; when her parents took her to the dentist, they discovered a mouth full of rotten teeth and a gum infection. She would have to have a major operation to remove her molars and install implants as placeholders until her adult teeth came in. When my husband read me the email about Sophie's friend, I was up late at night, sorting bunnies, chicks, and eggs to be hidden in the garden, and writing clues for the elaborate treasure hunt I'd planned to go with them. After he'd finished, I took a long, hard look at the piles of candy and chocolate. Philippe sensed his advantage.

“What about that idea of doing a family food diary?” he asked. He'd been pestering me for days with the suggestion. “It wouldn't hurt, and it would give us a sense of what the kids are eating. And what
we're
eating.”

This time, I relented. “Okay, but only for one week,” I argued, “and only after the Easter candy is finished.”

“Okay,” he insisted, “but we have to include
everything
we eat, and
how much
the girls are eating of each thing.”

Smugly, I agreed, thinking of all of the wonderful things I was now preparing for the girls. As a result of our variety blitz, dishes that had been rejected before—spinach, peppers, leeks, tomatoes, lettuce, and all kinds of fish—were now on the menu every week.
The diary will prove him wrong
, I thought.

But I was the one who was proved wrong. Philippe was right: the food diary really showed what the girls were (and weren't eating). The quality of their snacks wasn't great: they were mostly eating white bread and sweets (like jam, honey, chocolate, cookies). And they were filling up on snacks—an after-school snack, a bedtime snack, and (on weekends) a midmorning snack. By volume (at least according to my guesstimates, because I refused to weigh the food as Philippe had originally suggested), the girls were eating more at snacktime than they were at dinner. I realized that this might be the reason that they were only picking at most of the vegetable dishes I so carefully prepared and offered at dinnertime. This “sampling” style of eating, a behavior that I'd encouraged in order to get them to try more variety, was at its worst when they had a snack within one hour of dinnertime.

The family food diary exercise made me realize that
serving
a variety of foods wasn't enough. It wasn't just about
what
we offered the kids. We also had to think about
when
and
how
we offered food to the kids. From this perspective, the French schedule started to seem more and more reasonable. If they didn't have a midmorning snack, they'd be hungry at lunchtime. If they had only one afternoon snack, they'd be hungrier at dinner. And—although this was going to be the hardest of all—if we didn't let them have a bedtime snack, they'd be more inclined to actually eat a proper dinner. All too often, the kids picked at their plates at dinnertime, but ate cereal or bread and butter with great relish as their bedtime snack. Philippe was right: snacking was allowing our kids to fill up on poor-quality food. Maybe, I admitted, he was also right about their behavior. Maybe our kids would be just as well behaved (or better) if they weren't allowed to snack randomly.

I mentioned the food diary to our friend Céline, who had spent years living in Vancouver. Apart from Philippe, she was one of the French people I knew who really understood North American culture. Now that she was back in France, I wondered what she would have to say about snacking.

“When I first arrived in Vancouver, it seemed
so
rude!” she exclaimed, when I got her on the phone. “First of all, someone is eating alone, in front of you, and not sharing. And they're often standing up or walking around. The French feel uncomfortable seeing someone eating if they're not sitting down. And I couldn't believe how messy it was!”

It's true: snacking
is
messy. Crumbs get scattered, coffee gets spilled, fingers get oily, and clothing gets stained. For the fastidious French, this is disconcerting. Their children are, as a rule, much tidier than North Americans'. Even in our tiny village, the children came to school dressed in outfits that looked more like “Sunday best” than the rough-and-tumble clothing kids wear back home. Their clothes—just like those of the adults—were carefully ironed. (When I first visited Philippe's family, I was astounded by the fact that his mother ironed all of the family's clothing,
including
their jeans, T-shirts, and underwear. And French women of my generation were similar. My total lack of interest in ironing was, in turn, one of the warning signs for Philippe's family that I was an unsuitable spouse. I eventually, though grudgingly, took to ironing our clothes—although I drew the line at underwear. In turn, my commitment to ironing was seen as a reassuring sign by his family.)

And another thing Céline said intrigued me. “Americans have no self-control!” she kept repeating. This, again, reflects French views: people should show self-restraint when it comes to eating. This means that treats are rare, should be eaten only occasionally, and should be savored. Moreover, it means that food should be eaten only at mealtimes, and only at the table. In breaking all the French food rules, Americans were guilty of demonstrating a lack of self-control. For all of these reasons, the American approach to snacking seems both slightly bizarre and vaguely repellent to the French—particularly the constant sucking and slurping of drinks. I had already realized all of this, of course (and if I hadn't, there had been enough sideways looks from strangers on the street to make it abundantly clear).

Céline's comments really hit home. In spite of myself, I started to see the logic of the French approach—snacking might work for kids, but was a bad habit to take into adult life. I took my list of food rules down from the fridge and added our new snacking rule:

French Food Rule #7:

Limit snacks, ideally one per day (two maximum), and not within one hour of meals
.

Understanding this rule requires some explanation. Feeding children in France often feels like taking a train in Switzerland: it's always on schedule. In their daily routine, French children, like their parents, eat at the correctly scheduled time. (For special days and restaurant outings, this rule may be set aside, which is perhaps why some Americans have the impression that the French are so relaxed about eating times.) Just as important, French children do not eat at nonscheduled times. But scheduling meals does not mean (and is not viewed as) deprivation. The French
anticipate
eating. They have mastered the art of making delicious food of all kinds, and they themselves regularly indulge in it. The same is true with the
goûter
, which is associated with many cozy rituals (sort of like the traditional British afternoon tea). Milk and fresh fruit are often offered, but foods that Americans would recognize as snacks are usually the focus.
Tartines
(fresh baguette with butter and a sweet topping such as jam, honey, or chocolate spread) were the mainstay in my husband's house when he was growing up. They are still his ultimate comfort food. After a couple of thick slices of fresh baguette with creamed honey, it is hard to feel deprived, even if it's the only snack you'll get all day.

We'll just have to have really delicious snacks
, I thought. Suddenly, this didn't seem like such a bad idea after all.

I proudly pointed out the new rule to Philippe when he
wandered into the kitchen later that day. Thoughtful, he studied it for a while.

“That's good,” he said. “But not good enough. We have to change their minds about feeling like they
need
to snack all of the time. It's not that we are
preventing
them from snacking impulsively. They have to learn new habits so that they don't
want
to snack.” With that, he picked up a marker, and added a line:

In between meals, it's okay to feel hungry
.

At meals, eat until you're satisfied rather than full
.

This is likely to seem the cruelest rule to non-French readers. It certainly seemed cruel to me. Not feeding your children when they're hungry? Really? My first impulse was to cross out this rule and cancel the snack-scheduling experiment. But I decided to hear him out.

“Of course I don't believe that children should
be
hungry,” he started. “And nobody else in France does either! I'm saying it's okay to
feel
hungry,” he added. “That way, kids get used to the feeling of an empty stomach, which is normal and healthy.”

This is why French parents don't mind if their children
feel
hungry before meals. They believe that it is better to wait longer, and to eat a larger, healthier meal at regular intervals. The French even have proverb that expresses their attitude to hunger: “
Bon repas doit commencer par la faim
.” This proverb (literally, a good meal must start with hunger) means something like “hunger is the best seasoning.” Philippe's comment reminded me of one of my mother-in-law's sayings: “The stomach is a muscle. And just like any other muscle, it should be allowed to rest. It shouldn't constantly be asked to work.” According to her philosophy, eating too frequently could cause excess gastric acid to be secreted, which could in turn irritate the stomach. I hadn't bothered to check whether this bit of folk wisdom had any scientific proof, but she firmly believed in it.

“And besides,” my husband concluded triumphantly, “French kids don't really feel that hungry because they eat so well at mealtimes!”

This was true. I had noticed this very curious effect myself. When we spent time with his family and ate the meals they did, I felt satisfied for hours. And even when I could sense that my stomach was empty again, I felt so replenished that I really wasn't hungry. This wasn't because we were stuffing ourselves. The portions were usually smaller than what I grew up with, and I never felt that groaning feeling of painful fullness that I'd sometimes had after visiting our favorite all-you-can-eat buffet in Vancouver.