Ten thousand snails later, with shriveled, itchy fingers and one whole quart of snail meat, I was done. I didn’t say a word about how much it sucked — my French would not allow me that small pleasure. Service ended and I walked back to my closet of an apartment to join my half-bottle of Burgundy and Sony Discman.

Day Two: repeat Day One. They were trying to break my spirit with tiny snails! I put my head down and persevered with my paperclip, used to pry the meat from the snail’s shell. Went to the bar after my 20,000th snail and got drunk.

Day Three: acceptance. The change of events was shocking; I actually was able to cook something and touched a plate that went to a table.

I found myself after lunch being invited to the local café to hang out with the French cooks, not the interns like myself. I still don’t know why I was invited — I guess it was the snails. I would sit around getting wired on caffeine and reading the sports pages. My French sucked, but it was the sports pages and anyone can figure that out. One day, my French finally started to improve. It wasn’t because of classes or some silly book; it was because of Val Kilmer. I was invited over to one of the cooks’ apartments to watch a movie and drink some beer.

That movie was The Doors, chosen only for the fact that it had English subtitles. The kicker was the subtitles were in French grammar, so I finally understood why people had been mixing up their subjects and verbs. I had an epiphany that night. My language skills went from pre-K to third grade in two hours. I was on a roll.

My first day off in Saint-Père-sous-Vézelay was planned out meticulously from start to finish. I planned to go to the café, get wired on caffeine, write in my journal, get drunk, stagger home and pass out. All of this would have been possible except for the fact that I discovered the bar was closed on Tuesdays. I went back to my apartment and stared out of my quaint little window bored to death and almost to tears. I would have given anything to have a conversation in English. By the end of that day, I had hitchhiked up the hill to the next town and racked up an $800 phone bill that my parents still give me grief about.

The French operate their kitchens much differently than in the U.S. I believe this stems from a desire to actually enjoy life. Here in the States, cooks are expected to work their fingers to the bone, and executive chefs work up to 100 hours a week in the worst times. The French scoff at this lifestyle. A typical day at L’Ésperance started with coming in and drinking coffee with the other cooks, perhaps looking through the paper and then setting up your station. Then, everyone sat down and ate lunch together. Then, we served lunch to the public. After cleaning up, the restaurant shut down for a few hours. Late in the afternoon, we all showed back up at the restaurant, had coffee, chatted, set up stations and ate dinner together before the second service. Vacation in Europe is mandated by law, where cooks in this country are lucky if they don’t get fired for taking a sick day.
C’est la vie.

I often have an internal battle. I always wonder if my life would have turned out differently if I were in Europe now. I feel certain if I had taken this trip into the heart of cuisine later in life, I would have gotten so much more out of it. I would certainly be better prepared — financially, linguistically and professionally. But my time there instilled in me a deep appreciation for the history of French cuisine, a heritage that we in America heavily rely upon, whether you know it or not. Every time you make French toast, macaroni and cheese from scratch or plain old pot roast, you are replicating techniques that have roots in France.

Go. Take a trip. Eat a bunch of food before the cuisine of Europe becomes homogenized, like much of our food here. Write me an email and tell me all about it. But run screaming if anyone hands you a bag with 10,000 snails. 


Underground Butter is a monthly column from acclaimed Motor Supply Co. Bistro chef Tim Peters about life behind the scenes in the restaurant world. Reach Peters by email at food@free-times.com.