PARIS — During the 1970s, I dropped in on Monsieur Turpin, a storied Parisian greengrocer and pheasant plucker. His walrus mustache bristled with indignation.
“Those people,” he said, nodding toward two young Americans chewing on baguettes as they passed. “They are walking while they eat.”
Alas, poor Turpin. Today, even the Louvre Museum has a food court for ambulatory grazing. Soon it will include those ubiquitous golden arches. A Big Mona with fries?
What began slowly in the 1970s is now a galloping, likely irreversible, scourge. France is losing its fabled affinity for good food.
In the country where four centuries ago Francois Vatel fell on his sword because the turbot was late for a royal banquet, frozen fish sticks are all the rage.
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