If there is one French word I really don’t like, especially when it is used in reference to me, it is gourmand(e). Some of your Francophiles out there may say, oh, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing. Here’s the definition I found:

1) Qui mange avec avidité et avec excès (one who eats with eagerness/greed and in excess).
2) Qui exige beaucoup (one who demands a lot)
3) Qui aime la bonne nourriture et qui sait l’apprécier (one who likes good food and who knows how to appreciate it)

Now the third definition isn’t so bad, but, hey, it’s the third meaning listed. When the word is used in the third sense, I feel like the French always let a little of the first two meanings eek in a little bit.

I’ve been having quite a bit of fun at work this week, probably because I had Wednesday off. Last night during the service, neither chef was there, Jean-Pierre was in a particularly good mood, it was Georgio’s last night, and we only had about 50 covers. We were playing around. Medi messed up a ravioli order, and handed the whole thing (!) to me because I had never tasted it before. Super-yum. Then Johan had some extra risotto, so everyone had a bite. Jean-Pierre and Dewey came up with a new dessert and made everyone try that. I was having a lot of fun with our mini-food fest, until the other female intern, a ditsy, twenty-ish French girl looks at me and says, “Oohhh, you’re a gourmande.” I tried to ignore her and enjoy the fact that I was actually having fun during my stage, that I was feeling like I was accomplishing something, and that I was fitting in.

Today was more of the same conviviality, but with both chefs thrown in. French-girl intern and the fifteen-year-old intern had to make a dish for the staff as part of their schooling. The chefs were really into this, and were very good teachers. The dishes that the newbies were to make were very introductory, two dishes we did in the first few weeks at Le Cordon Bleu. French-girl was making a lot of novice mistakes (she didn’t season her meat before searing it, she crowded the pan, she didn’t let the oil get hot enough before adding the meat…). Later, she had me try her grulots onions that she had cooked glacées á brun. They were crunchy and they shouldn’t be. I was explaining this to her, but trying to be as positive and upbeat as I could. I told her that I couldn’t wait to eat her stuff, and that it smelled really good. She felt it necessary to say, “Wow, you are really gourmande.”

Like the little brother in a Christmas story, “Who’s mommy’s little piggy?”

Who’s our restaurant’s petite gourmande???

If I can’t be excited about food and eating tucked away in a dark basement kitchen, where can I be?