French Country comes to Paris

"How can one govern a country with more than 500 cheeses?" Charles de Gaulle is said to have asked in exasperation at a particularly difficult political moment. The answer for anyone hoping to do so? Press the flesh--that is, the flesh of cows, horses, sheep, goats, mules...and voters--at the annual Salon d'Agriculture.

In a country crazy for "salons"--or expos--on every imaginable topic, for la grande publique, the agricultural expo is the undisputed king. Cunningly scheduled just before national elections begin (for here they consist of several grueling rounds of elimination), and thoughtfully timed to coincide with schoolchildren's two-week-long winter vacation (after all, all children need to have time to enjoy the sports d'hiver, i.e. skiing), the Salon d'Agriculture is a cultural monument to the rural roots of all French, but most particularly Parisians, who appear to have wandered the farthest from their country origins.

In this 10-day-long event, hundreds of varieties of farm animals and thousands of farm products descend with their proprietors to the expo halls at the Porte de Versailles, a confusing conglomeration of buildings that--along with the Mitterand library-- represents the modern French architecture at its most impractical and cold. But even these impersonal spaces are brought to life during the...dare we call it a farm expo?

But don't get any misguided ideas here. The Salon d'Agriculture isn't a midwestern pork festival. It's a grand celebration of the vast, much treasured, and carefully maintained diversity of the French countryside.
It's a festival of regional riches. No other people seem to love diversity and complexity as much as the French, and here's the expo to prove it. Not just a dozen breeds of cows, but scores of "races," as they're called. The same for horses, sheep, mules (a tremendous favorite) and all the other farmyard animals. And even more for the humble beasts of the basse cours--literally "lower courtyard"--meaning rabbits, pigeons, chickens, ducks, geese, quail, turkeys...here the breed-tally outnumbers those of the larger beasts. And of course, all these animal breeds--like the French people--come from a particular terroir.

For every type of animal, there is an eye-popping variety of forms and colors. I admit that, even as a Midwestern farm girl of sorts, I have never seen cattle as impressive in size, musculature, or coloring. The bulls in the photo aren't buffalo, but the breed "Parthenaise", among whom even the cows look like bulls, with hugely muscled bodies. And there was not one, but two varieties of truly blue cattle--the Bleu Blanc and another one whose name I've forgotten.

The largest hall was devoted to the cattle, in fact, and the entire place had the atmosphere of a haute couture défilé. At the entrance to the hall was a wall featuring a poster-sized framed photo of each breed, every bit as slick and elegant as a Vogue cover. Upbeat, fashion runway-type music played over the loudspeakers. An enormous banner declared that the Charolais breed of Burgundy were the declared vedettes (stars) of the show. Indeed they occupied a enormous area in the center of the hall, replete with huge video screens showing the beasts in their homeland setting.

Lots of other slick, high-tech exhibits contrasted with the monstrous, creamy, furry bodies of the live beasts themselves. Perhaps the most very French of these was a virtual web tour of the Burgundy region, complete with its smells. That's right--the Rube Goldberg idea of digital smells is alive and well in France. As you clicked your way through Burgundy, you got whiffs of fresh hay, crushed grapes, musty wine cellars, and my favorite--wild mushrooms growing in the forest.

And displayed right alongside--rather tactlessly, I might say--were stands featuring Charolais beef, raw as well as prepared in every imaginable fashion. For the French there is no paradox in lavishing every loving attention on their beasts, and then eating them with gusto.

Two or three rings were occupied nonstop with judged contests for the finest beasts, and the stands were packed with onlookers. I was unable to wiggle my way to any decent vantage point for photo-taking. And while the thousands of stands offering tastings of wine, foie gras, and every imaginable comestible were certainly busy (no one loves a free lunch as much as the French), the animals were by far the biggest draw of the expo. All the animal exhibits were thronged with people. To even get a peek at a proud, plump pigeon, you had to elbow your way through a layer of admirers 5 bodies deep.

Children were everywhere in the tow of their parents. It is no accident that the Salon d'Agriculture is timed during the winter school holiday. This is so that Parisian children can be fully inculcated with the love of terroir--literally "the land", not just any land but the special regional-ness of land. Children are drenched in the legendary terroir of their parents, or grandparents, or ancestors--whatever the case may be.

Love of terroir is at the very heart of Frenchness. In this particular sense of regionality is embraced all the diversity of French culture: cooking, decoration, architecture, gardening--you name it. And all French people--even those who have been Parisians for generations--lay proud claim to their terroir, and swear to their agricultural roots.

That's what makes the Salon d'Agriculture an event of paramount importance for politicians. Because to win the vote, they have to demonstrate how deeply connected they are to the sense of terroir--and thus to the very soul of the French people. And most especially to the souls of France's numerous farmers--a notoriously fractious group politically whose vote is essential to the would-be elected official. And politically, perhaps some terroirs are better than others, who knows? After all, many of France's presidents have come from Auvergne, a cold, mountainous region in the center of France known for its hard work ethic and its great farmstead cheeses, such as St. Nectaire and Cantal.

So, it was none other than President Chirac who hosted the opening ceremonies, closely followed by his rivals in the upcoming elections as well as hordes of candidates of every description, all of them engaged in pressing the flesh, mugging with the beasts, singing along with the traditional songs, and generally expressing that more than any other candidate, he or she was most deeply rooted in the terroir of Mother France.

If you're thinking of visiting and you really want to get more than a superficial glimpse into French culture, I can't recommend a better time to come than during the Salon d'Agriculture in late winter. Air fares are at their cheapest, and love of terroir at a fever pitch.

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