MERCI

MERCI 

It's Thanksgiving . . . 2009. 

This year, I have decided to thank the French. 

Truth be told, the French in recent times have received precious little thanks. In the run up to and aftermath of the on going Iraq War, they were of course vilified. America's higher-ups treated them as the despicable denizens of Old Europe, unwilling and unable to roll up their sleeves on the side of democracy and the ubiquitous war on terror. When they stood their ground, refusing to be intimidated into capitulation, we unleashed the big guns.

We renamed french fries Freedom Fries. 

And dusted off all those World War II jokes. 

My guess is that the French let that whole culinary correction thing roll right off their collective backs. In fact, they probably liked it. At its best, and even at its worst, France is a nation of fine food. It is very hard to get a bad meal at a half way decent restaurant in Paris. You can't get a cheap one. Especially now, with the dollar tanking. But it will usually be a good one. 

So I bet they were pretty happy to be done with les Americain's "french fries." 

In 1972, when I was an exchange student living in Paris, the whole city was in a twist over the fact that a McDonald's was opening on the Champs Elysees. There were street protests and ominous editorials bemoaning another unwanted invasion. For awhile, it looked like Le Big Mac was going to be une bust. Things, however, have settled down appreciably. Mickey Dees is packed every day of the week. President Sarkozy is asking his fellow citoyens to be a little less French and more American when it comes to labor markets. My French friends even brag these days about California wine. 

The only thing they really oppose is our unnecessary wars. 

And our right wing. 

And I really can't argue with them on either count. 

In 2005, I returned for my first visit to France in twenty nine years. Walking around Versailles with the same fellow I had lived with as a teen, he told me that 80% of the French had supported John Kerry in his bid for the Presidency. Over here, where he was being swift boated into an un-American coward, the nut case right said that Kerry "looked" French . . . and it wasn't a compliment. Over there, he was still a hero. Which of course is why he lost. 

Thank God Barack doesn't look French. 

France isn't just a country. It's closer to an intoxicating experience. I went to a three day conference in Paris last winter. Everyone had come to talk law and do business. These conferences typically make attendees participate in team building exercises. You know, the stuff that uproariously funny commercial lampoons as two guys who have had enough catch the first American Air Lines flight out of town. But ours was different. We painted a picture. On a ten foot square canvas made of mini-squares we could later disassemble and take home. 

We did Picasso. 

Instead of psychobabble. 

At the last night dinner cruise on the Seine, I sat between a young Anglo-French lawyer and a Dutch-Israeli real estate investor. The City of Lights rolled by, gorgeous even in the chill of a cold winter night. Which is another thing you have to thank them for. 

They'll always have Paris.