With elections seemingly everywhere this year, we asked our butcher and his wife whom they were voting for in the French presidential run-off.  Mrs. butcher went into a trance-like state and Mr. butcher went into his cooler.  We pressed.  “Oh, no,” she finally said, “we in commerce cannot say whom we support.  That might upset some of our clients.” 

“But we’re Americans.  You can tell us because we can’t vote here.”   She demurred once more.  “Look, we’ll tell you whom we’re going to vote for in our elections.”

No deal.  ”We are business people,” she said proudly.  “We are forbidden to discuss politics in our business place.”  Sort of a private Hatch Act that keeps shops from turning into brawls, I guess.

We shouldn’t have been too surprised.  She is always the most discreet of human beings.  When she saw an article about our book in a regional paper, she waited to mention it until we were the only customers in the store.  “If we get a copy, would you sign it for us?”

When the book was in their hands, it was again a quiet little dance, as she ushered other customers out and then got the book out for our signatures.

Last week we had a chance to prove we had learned our lesson.  She asked if we would be willing to donate a signed copy of the book to the local library of which she has been the treasure for many years.  We agreed.

We packed the book in an opaque bag, and, after we had paid for our purchase, we quietly handed it to her with a “This is for you.”

She smiled the way you smile at children who have cleaned their rooms.  “Our local readers thank you,” she said.

“Fourniret, you’re nothing but a clown,” said the judge handing down a sentence in a murder case last month. There was no question about guilt but nonetheless, the judge’s pronouncement engendered protest–from a real clown.

Francis Nachbar runs a cabaret-circus in Paris where he is the star performer in the role of a sad clown.  There’s no play-acting now; he has something to be truly sad about.  “I’m really hurt,” he wrote in a letter to the judge, “really wounded by your statement.  It is an insult to genuine clowns.  Totally inadmissable.”

There is more to clowns than their make-up.  How can we ever enjoy the circus again?

An update on Loue chicken’s 50th anniversary.  All that good stuff they get fed has joined the list of ever-more-expensive food.  The price of grain has risen faster than little green sprouts.  Result?  Those yummy free-range birds have become rara avis on shopping lists thanks to new, higher prices just announced.  Not really the way consumers had planned on celebrating the anniversary. 

But it’s an ill-will and all that….  Higher fuel prices have driven many French shoppers home giving small shop keepers something to celebrate.  Instead of getting in their cars and heading to les grands surfaces or supermarkets on the edge of town, people are walking or biking downtown for their daily baguette and other supplies.   Small towns all over France are rejoicing.

Me, too.

It’s official:  No “chlorinated” chickens will be allowed into any of the countries of the European Union.  Translation:  Chickens from the United States washed in a chlorine solution are now banned.

“But, hey,” protests the U.S., “this is the best way to kill bacteria on the chickens once they’ve been slaughtered.  You can always wash the bleach off.”

We’ve got a better idea, the E.U. responded.  Raise your chickens in healthy, hygenic conditions.  That will take care of the bacteria problem–without the bleach.

Word of the E.U. decision arrived here just as one of France’s most famous chicken-growing cooperatives was celebrating its 50th anniversary–the Loue chickens. For 50 years these birds have been raised in perfectly organic conditions.   Several hundred thousand of them reach the market annually, although foxes in the Loue neighborhood in northwestern France are chubby.  They manage to grab nearly a quarter million of the favored fowl each year despite farmers’ best attempts to round their birds up each night and close them in.

The chickens’ days, however, are idyllic, roaming around the myriad of farms in the Loue area that supply the co-operative.  In addition to whatever nice, juicy worms they find, the chickens get the purest grain possible.  No commercially-manufactured or genetically modified feed is allowed.

Loue birds get the added benefit of a very long life–three months longer than other chickens destined for the human food chain.  And, as French gourmets know, the flesh of these pampered volaille is both tender and succulent.

So, happy birthday Loue.  And many more.