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PARIS DISPATCH
Call it the Benedict Arnold of fast food. McDonald's, under attack in France as a symbol of depraved Americana, is insisting the critics have it all wrong. Actually, it is the Frenchest of companies. And where's the evidence that McDonald's embodies the Gaulish spirit? Well, for one thing, it dislikes Americans.
So suggests a series of ads in the French media. "Salads at McDonald's? I don't get it," says a calorically challenged chap sporting an unappealing combination of coveralls, a combat jacket, and a baseball cap in one company ad. (He's American, you see.) "Ah, but in France we like salads," the ad smugly replies. "And, dear sir, food isn't about `getting it.' It's about taste, choice, and health. Salad is an essential nutritional element, which is fortunate because the French love it. And, contrary to popular opinion, they have taste."
There is a reason for all this. Arriving by limo at the Deauville American Film Festival last summer, the pride of Hollywood was greeted not by the customary crush of squealing fans but by mooing cows, grunting pigs, and 200 profoundly agitated French farmers. It was the perfect symbol for current Franco- American relations: a clutch of very rural Frenchmen protesting, as only very rural Frenchmen can, against what is persistently and somewhat unfathomably referred to here as "ever-encroaching U.S. hegemony."
This particular spat concerned Washington's decision, in response to Europe's ban on hormone-treated American beef, to impose crippling import tariffs on such French sacraments as Roquefort cheese, Dijon mustard, and foie gras. Gallic retaliation was swift: dozens of cafes slapped 100 percent "taxes" on Coca-Cola, and agro-hooligans trashed McDonald's restaurants far and wide. The most highly publicized act of McVandalism was led by a sheep farmer and cheese maker from southwestern France who has since gained wider notoriety as the unlikely figurehead of the Seattle protests against the World Trade Organization.
Jose Bove, a cut above your average peasant farmer in that he cites Henry David Thoreau and Adam Powell among his influences, chose his target well. For him, the pride of American corporate--if not culinary--prowess represents three evils. "Firstly, it's globalization, multinationals, the power of the market," he says. "Then it stands for industrially produced food: bad for traditional farmers and bad for our health. And lastly it's a symbol of America. It comes from the place where they not only promote globalization and industrially produced food but also unfairly penalize our peasants."
Most of France seems to be on Bove's side. Imprisoned for 20 days after wrecking a McDonald's that was still under construction, he won expressions of support from all sides of the political spectrum. Even Prime Minister Lionel Jospin said his fight was just. And Bove's campaign has struck a chord with French consumers fed up with what he calls "la malbouffe"--crappy eats. Europe had already suffered through mad cows (in Britain), dioxin-tainted chickens (in Belgium), and possibly poisonous Coca-Cola (in France itself). The French people want to know, zut alors, what exactly is on their plates. "In France, food equals identity," says Guillaume Parmentier, who heads the French Center on the United States, a private-sector think tank. "There is a growing fear of being taken over by new types of technology and a general ambivalence toward globalization--of which McDonald's has become a symbol."
With the row spiraling out of control, McDonald's turned to the admen. McDonald's France, they pointed out, is French--made from French products and by French hands. One ad spells it out. "What I don't like about McDonald's France is: They don't use American beef," complains a wizened Yankee named John. "Too right, John," comes the reply. "Our meat isn't shipped in from the U.S. It all comes from France. And you know why, John? Because our beef is pretty good, too." The ads, admits McDonald's France Vice President Jean-Pierre Petit, are "the best way of pulling the rug out from under the feet of those who use our American origins as a way of criticizing us."
But are the ads really necessary? Anti-Americanism has its limits in France--even when it comes to a matter as close to every Frenchman's heart as his stomach. In truth, the French are fascinated by all things American. When Burger King pulled out of France a couple of years ago, it was not--as the commentators gleefully but erroneously suggested--because the refined Gallic palate had revolted against the Whopper, but because Burger King was bested by McDonald's, which now has 800 restaurants around the country.
In matters of the mind, the story is the same. Disneyland Paris's 12.6 million visitors last year included five million French, many returning for a second time. And, while the heavily subsidized French film industry may have produced more homegrown films last year than ever before, most sank without a trace. The film that broke all box-office records, selling 20 million tickets in France, was Titanic.
Jose Bove may turn out to be a flash in the, er, pan. |
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In another in the series, a plump Texan wearing a Stetson roars into his cell phone: "McDonald's France's products come from the farm? And they actually eat them?" The riposte: "Working with an individual farm, sir, is the best way to guarantee the origin and quality of our goods. And to avoid genetically modified ingredients." Then comes the slogan: "McDonald's. Born in the USA. Made in France."
