A Be'er-Do-Well In Paris

I’ve been keeping a close eye on Parisian beer habits. I can confirm that they drink beer. Throughout my study, I have made some observations; have had some thoughts. I will try and have these thoughts again, in writing.

Beer we go!

The beers here seem to fall into two broad categories: lager pilseners (Heineken and Kronenberg 1664 are everywhere!) and strong “Abbey” beers, which are typically Belgian (Leffe, for instance). There is very little of anything hoppy, not an IPA in sight. Not much dark beer (except for Guinness), not much “amber” and nothing “low carb”. While most of it is better than your standard Lion Brewery stuff back home, I am yet to have a beer here that is more than “just another beer”. The beer aisles at supermarkets are nothing like the long, packed shelves back in Wellington. Everything is beerily similar.

One of the more perplexing differences between New Zealand and France (it’s probably more than just France, but how should I know?) is the slight difference in serving sizes. For instance, instead of 600mL bottles of soft drinks, they go for 500mL. Instead of 330mL bottles, they prefer 250mL or 500mL (they also refer to these as 25cL or 50cL. I can only assume this is some high-brow existentialist maths). This actually makes sense; 600mL is a stupid volume. Half a litre is more common sense (by the way, 2.25L?). But having had the 600mL, I just can’t get used to the smaller bottles. I bet that’s how Heidi Klum feels.

You can get beer in 33mL bottles and cans, but it’s far less popular than the littlies and the slightly biggeries. I’m told you can also get craft beer, but it is rarely on tap, and the range is not like back home. Which seems odd. You would expect there to be a vast range of beers from all over Europe, each nation’s export claiming to be superior to the next. But maybe this is that thing that you always hear about: the snooty (read: xenophobic) French. They know what they like, and what they like is usually French (or Belgian, but what’s the diff?).

[Beer in mind, I realise that a great deal of the beers here are not from France. I am trying to say that the stereotype of the French not being open to new ideas might be reflected in their beer selection, as it is not varied. Like Hugh Hefner’s girlfriends.]

Before leaving New Zealand, people kept warning me about the French, and how they can be so rude if you don’t speak le français. I haven’t found that thus far. Most people are very nice. In fact, just this evening, a man rang our doorbell, wanting to advertise that he is a real estate agent, and if we ever want to move apartments, here is his business card. He spoke about as much English as I do French, so this (theoretically) short interaction took about five minutes, with both of us trying to express something or other in horrific versions of the other’s mother tongue. It was delightful. Pointless, as we are locked into our lease for a year (something I failed to express immediately), but delightful. There have been two occasions where people have said something to me in French, and then become pretty brassed off when I replied with “je ne parle pas français”. One was an apparently crazy old woman, and the other was a 20ish young guy who I think wanted to seem tough. I could have taken either of them.

Sorry for the tangent. Thanks for beering with me. I mentioned earlier the strong beer fetish. It is perfectly acceptable to stroll around the streets, parks and canals of Paris with one of these things:

That’s proper homeless territory, as far as I’m concerned. Just this morning, I saw a guy, mid-thirties, suit and tie, leisurely heading off towards the metro with one of them in his hand. It was 10:30am! He’d probably just brushed his teeth. And this is pretty popular over this way. It seems pretty much the norm to have a big, strong beer for brunch, on a work day, while you walk, pushing a pram. Maybe it’s a bohemian, life-is-meaningless-type thing (you know, Jacque Kerouac-style). All I know is, if I ever drink one of these things, somebody better get John Kirwan on the phone:

When I Googled Faxe Extra Strong, I got a bunch of “Worst Beers Ever” reviews. That is a litre of 10% beer in one can. Don’t tell Family First.

On the plus-side, the Parisians have done a few things right when it comes to beer:

-       A pint here IS ACTUALLY A PINT!!! As in, when you ask for a pint, you get roughly 473mL of beer (usually they round up to 500mL). Bars in New Zealand seem to have concluded that the word “pint” is just an expression, and will happily advertise “a pint for $5” and proceed to deliver a handle. A pint is a specific measurement, which makes that false advertising. DON’T MAKE ME CALL FAIR GO!

-       Happy Hour is an institution, and somewhere along the way, someone must have wrongly translated “hour”, because it’s never just an hour! Our nearby café Les Anemones (“the anemones”) has a happy hour from 4pm-midnight. What’s the point in ever having full price?

-       There doesn’t seem to be any liquor ban here (as evidenced by my suit and tie friend above). It doesn’t seem to cause much of a problem. Whereas us Kiwis can’t be trusted – we fight or break shit – the French just seem to get a bit tipsy and talk about Voltaire (I assume). There are a lot of street cleaners out in the mornings, though.

And those are my thoughts, more or less as I thought them. Apologies if you expected something comprehensive, but I think we got the beer necessities. (Good night.)