Yesterday, Graham and I went to buy a Cockerel. We'd been told about the location of a farm in northern Mayenne where there are chickens, ducks and geese, amongst others, for sale. Great! We wanted to get a cockerel that's not related to our hens (the ones that are due to hatch on Sunday, and, we hope, will become hens). So off we go, following the directions kindly given to us by our friend Richard. The last line on the notes said, 'You will see the cages as you go up the slope'. And indeed we did.
Imagine the scene. We're driving along the back roads of 'France profond', the low autumn sun glinting on the leaves. It's warm and peaceful. Lovely. In my minds eye I'd imagined these cages, probably populated by happy chickens and ducks, clucking and quacking merrily, scratching around in the lazy autumn sunshine.
Erm, no! The sight that met our eyes when we drove up the last slope was not quite what I'd expected. Inside a huge green metal hangar were row upon row of cages, piled 6 or 7 high. If you were to imagine a plastic cat transporter, only sort of flattened, that would give you an idea. In each of these cages were birds - maybe 6 or 7 in each. White chickens, brown chickens, grey chickens, ducks in khaki and white and big grey geese that were sort of folded up to fit in. It was also really quiet in the hangar. No contented clucking there, oh no.
We asked the smiling, friendly french farmer if he had the breed we wanted, he answered yes, asked how many, grabbed two boxes and unceremoniously stuffed the two hens in one cardboard box and a young cockerel in another. Five minutes, tinkle of the till and we're back on the country roads on our way home.
Now here's the thing. In France, at least around where we live almost everyone who has a little space raises chickens and ducks. You see them waddling around all over the place. Usually in very large runs looking exactly like that idyllic picture. Our french neighbours do not give their chickens names and are quite happy to talk about the fineness of the flesh and their rapidity of growth. It might seem heartless to a Brit - and some expats here will exclaim quite firmly 'I would never eat MY chickens'.
Don't misunderstand. I'm not saying it is pleasant to see all those young birds crammed into cages ready for sale, but the ones I saw seemed healthy and well grown, if a little too quiet for my liking. However, most will be sold to people like me (Brit or French) who will raise them free-range, eat the eggs and the surplus birds. In France the percentage of chickens sold that are free-range or outdoor reared is around 80%. That is very high compared say to the UK or US. It's not because the French love animals more, but that they prize quality over quantity. An average chicken in the local supermarche is around 9 euros and the taste of the cooked bird is just wonderful. Sometimes, at the bottom of the chiller cabinet you might see a 'Bien Vu' (bargain) chicken for 4 euros but they certainly don't seem to be too popular with the locals.
We've been living in France for just under two years, and whilst I wouldn't describe myself as being blinded by Francophilia I certainly think that there are things the French do better than the Brits.
Putting aside the quality of the food, for which France is famous, I have noticed that the attitude the French have to the animals they rear for food is quite different to that in the UK. It's interesting that, unlike in the modern English language, French usually only has one word for both the animal and the meat that you get from said animal. Porc from a porc, boeuf from a boeuf, mouton from a mouton etc... whilst we Brits use a corruption of the French for the meat and the old English for the animal itself. Pork from pig, beef from a cow, mutton from a sheep. There's a distinct difference in the name and it seems, for most Brits a distinct difference between the pork you eat for your dinner and the cute little piggie starring in 'Babe'.
Perhaps it's this separation between animal and pre-packed supermarket meat that means that people in the UK are able to coo and ahhh over a fluffy easter chick and then eat chicken nuggets made from factory farmed birds whose life is valued at £2 a kilo. Personally I prefer the honesty of the French way. That's not to say that some practices couldn't and shouldn't be improved. Just that, at least here, people are fully aware of what they are eating and in many cases, due to the French obsession about knowing the origins of food, where and how it was raised and slaughtered. I think perhaps that separating ourselves from the unsentimental side of meat production may lead to at least two difficulties. Firstly that the farmers know that the Brits (and by all accounts urbanised Americans too) 'don't want to know' about the animal they're eating, and so, in some senses makes dubious animal husbandry all the easier to carry out. Secondly, I really feel it only adds to the infantilisation of adults in advanced cultures. Almost as if feelings must be spared in order that we can continue to live in a make believe world, ignoring the fact that most fluffy little chicks will never, ever see the autumn sunshine - but a ready to cook bird, on offer, can sell for a couple of quid.
The French know that it's worth looking after animals well in order to ensure a good eating experience - and they're prepared to pay for it. In 2005 the percentage of disposable income spent on food in the UK was around 11% whereas in France it was around 16%. The French know that happy meat tastes better but costs more - simple.
When the chicks hatch out on Sunday, I am going to take an Anglo-French approach. I will resist ahh-ing and they will be issued numbers, not names. However, watch out for the posted pictures on Facebook. It would provoke a gallic shrug and a small shake of the head from our French neighbours but what the hell - I'm no chickens mother, but I hope to be a proud hatcher!
Imagine the scene. We're driving along the back roads of 'France profond', the low autumn sun glinting on the leaves. It's warm and peaceful. Lovely. In my minds eye I'd imagined these cages, probably populated by happy chickens and ducks, clucking and quacking merrily, scratching around in the lazy autumn sunshine.
Erm, no! The sight that met our eyes when we drove up the last slope was not quite what I'd expected. Inside a huge green metal hangar were row upon row of cages, piled 6 or 7 high. If you were to imagine a plastic cat transporter, only sort of flattened, that would give you an idea. In each of these cages were birds - maybe 6 or 7 in each. White chickens, brown chickens, grey chickens, ducks in khaki and white and big grey geese that were sort of folded up to fit in. It was also really quiet in the hangar. No contented clucking there, oh no.
We asked the smiling, friendly french farmer if he had the breed we wanted, he answered yes, asked how many, grabbed two boxes and unceremoniously stuffed the two hens in one cardboard box and a young cockerel in another. Five minutes, tinkle of the till and we're back on the country roads on our way home.
Now here's the thing. In France, at least around where we live almost everyone who has a little space raises chickens and ducks. You see them waddling around all over the place. Usually in very large runs looking exactly like that idyllic picture. Our french neighbours do not give their chickens names and are quite happy to talk about the fineness of the flesh and their rapidity of growth. It might seem heartless to a Brit - and some expats here will exclaim quite firmly 'I would never eat MY chickens'.
Don't misunderstand. I'm not saying it is pleasant to see all those young birds crammed into cages ready for sale, but the ones I saw seemed healthy and well grown, if a little too quiet for my liking. However, most will be sold to people like me (Brit or French) who will raise them free-range, eat the eggs and the surplus birds. In France the percentage of chickens sold that are free-range or outdoor reared is around 80%. That is very high compared say to the UK or US. It's not because the French love animals more, but that they prize quality over quantity. An average chicken in the local supermarche is around 9 euros and the taste of the cooked bird is just wonderful. Sometimes, at the bottom of the chiller cabinet you might see a 'Bien Vu' (bargain) chicken for 4 euros but they certainly don't seem to be too popular with the locals.
We've been living in France for just under two years, and whilst I wouldn't describe myself as being blinded by Francophilia I certainly think that there are things the French do better than the Brits.
Putting aside the quality of the food, for which France is famous, I have noticed that the attitude the French have to the animals they rear for food is quite different to that in the UK. It's interesting that, unlike in the modern English language, French usually only has one word for both the animal and the meat that you get from said animal. Porc from a porc, boeuf from a boeuf, mouton from a mouton etc... whilst we Brits use a corruption of the French for the meat and the old English for the animal itself. Pork from pig, beef from a cow, mutton from a sheep. There's a distinct difference in the name and it seems, for most Brits a distinct difference between the pork you eat for your dinner and the cute little piggie starring in 'Babe'.
Perhaps it's this separation between animal and pre-packed supermarket meat that means that people in the UK are able to coo and ahhh over a fluffy easter chick and then eat chicken nuggets made from factory farmed birds whose life is valued at £2 a kilo. Personally I prefer the honesty of the French way. That's not to say that some practices couldn't and shouldn't be improved. Just that, at least here, people are fully aware of what they are eating and in many cases, due to the French obsession about knowing the origins of food, where and how it was raised and slaughtered. I think perhaps that separating ourselves from the unsentimental side of meat production may lead to at least two difficulties. Firstly that the farmers know that the Brits (and by all accounts urbanised Americans too) 'don't want to know' about the animal they're eating, and so, in some senses makes dubious animal husbandry all the easier to carry out. Secondly, I really feel it only adds to the infantilisation of adults in advanced cultures. Almost as if feelings must be spared in order that we can continue to live in a make believe world, ignoring the fact that most fluffy little chicks will never, ever see the autumn sunshine - but a ready to cook bird, on offer, can sell for a couple of quid.
The French know that it's worth looking after animals well in order to ensure a good eating experience - and they're prepared to pay for it. In 2005 the percentage of disposable income spent on food in the UK was around 11% whereas in France it was around 16%. The French know that happy meat tastes better but costs more - simple.
When the chicks hatch out on Sunday, I am going to take an Anglo-French approach. I will resist ahh-ing and they will be issued numbers, not names. However, watch out for the posted pictures on Facebook. It would provoke a gallic shrug and a small shake of the head from our French neighbours but what the hell - I'm no chickens mother, but I hope to be a proud hatcher!
I personally haven't eaten chicken since I was 17 and have never felt like I was missing out. I get the point about infantilisation of people (Bloody disneyfied concept of animals) and have certainly developed a much more pragmatic approach to animal husbandry as I get older but I do believe there still is no need for the birds to be crammed into stacked cages whilst they await their table fate!
ReplyDeleteAnd I bet an ahhh will seep between your lips when you see the fluffys!
And I hope your cockerell is happy in his new home