But what struck me about it was the snack of choice of Parisian fans. I knew to anticipate some good junk food...for where there is beer, and balls, there is food. But I expected a boiled hotdog on a hotdog bun the consistency of a twinky.What I got is the perfect symbol of the differences between French and American cuisine and food.
In Paris, they don't eat hotgogs at ballgames. No. They eat fresh baguettes stuffed with french fries (probably fried in duck fat) stuffed full of spicy Merguez sausages. In principle, it's the same concept as a hotdog. But it's the details that make all the difference. Spicy, blood red sausages seasoned with a sprinkle of provencal herbs, grilled until they burst, shoved into a fresh baguette, to help you wash down your beer at half time.
It's times like these that make me truly appreciate French cuisine. It's not all about the fancy sauces or the odd smelling offals. Real, everyday French cooking is about taking simple comfort food and taking it to the next level. Only they don't know they're at the next level, because frankly, you will never see a hotdog served anywhere. This is where I find the real Paris, the real sophistication of the French lifestyle, without a 150 euro bill at the end.