So, its called 'French Logic'

So where is the French you might ask. Where is the logic? Well, there is no French here, and not that much logic either. There is only a French wannabe. Me.
I am a sucker for all things French. If something is labled "French" I will buy it. If something sounds French, I will listen to it. If a movie is made in France by French people I will pretend to enjoy and understand it. I want to be French. I have always wanted to be French.

I blame Madeline the little French girl I so often read about. What a life she had! Oh, to wander the streets of Paris wearing a funny hat and eating a croissant. A real one. Not the piece of crap crescent rolls you get here. The real ones are almost ugly to our untrained eyes. They are not curved, they are straight, almost burnt looking, and the exterior crumbles between your lips ever so slightly as you bite into it, then your tongue gets the pleasure of feeling all the many layers. You can sort them if you try. As you chew, the crisp and moist combine, the warmth of your mouth awakens the butter in those layers, you taste the sugar, salt and creamy butter. You close your eyes and just savor.

Keep in mind I have never been to France, nor have I ever eaten a real croissant. I have only been there a thousand times in my detail oriented imagination. I have tasted a thousand croissants, but never once consumed a calorie. I know what it feels like to have the sun shine on my face as I sit on a Parisian park bench and eat the fabled croissant. Or maybe it's lunch time and I am having a jambon buerre ( the equivalent of a ham sandwich here, but without all the crap. Just ham, butter, baguette).

I could go on and on and on with all the sights, sounds, tastes, and smells I have experienced over the years. But they will all have to wait their turn. All in good time, my pretties, all in good time.

Now to explain the French Logic part. That is much more complicated. As are the French. The best example I have ever seen of French logic is this apparently true story.

A certain Chodric-Duclos, who was a stanch loyalist, found himself during the revolution of 1830 close to the barricade, from the top of which some boys were firing at the Swiss Guards of course they aimed badly, and their bullets went far beside the mark. Duclos, who was a magnificent shot, felt disgusted at the waste of powder and shot, quietly crept to the back of the structure and clambered up.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves" he said to the astonished lads; "when I was your age I could spot my man at a hundred yards. Let me show you how to do it."
And forthwith he takes up one musket and brings down a Swiss Guard, then another, and a third. The workmen standing below and looking out of the windows applauded frantically, and bade him "Go on."
"I can't!" he shouts; then explains: "You see, I belong to their side. I only came up here to show these lads how to do it."


No one but the logical Frenchman would have been capable of such ludicrously illogical conduct.



-from The New York Times archives, August 29, 1895, "French Men and Manners"

I completely understand where that guy was coming from, and I also agree with his logic, however flawed it may be. After all, no one is perfect, not even the French. But, man, they sure know how to bake!