Merry belated Christmas! My Christmas
was lovely. And very oyster-filled. I do not eat oysters, but
everyone else does – it's a traditional dish for both the 24th
and the 25th of December. This means that everyone in my
family works double shifts just before Christmas for my host uncle,
preparing and selling the oysters that everyone else will enjoy as
their Christmas entrée and that will ensure my uncle's financial
well-being for the year ahead. The oyster business tends to hinge
directly on the sales of the week before Christmas, so it is a very
important time of the year for the family business.
Thus, when I remember “my Christmas
in France” in future years, it'll be oysters that I think of. And
my post about Christmas living abroad won't be about homesickness or
coal in my stocking, but about oysters.
On the 23rd of December, we
prepared the oysters we'd be selling at market on the 24th.
I only stopped by the oyster hut briefly, as they already had enough
workers, but I packed a few boxes and watched long enough to figure
out how it works. Most of that day's work was preparing the
pre-orders. Many people pre-ordered their oysters if they had a very
large quantity, usually 4 to 16 dozen (~ 50 to 200), to ensure they
would get their oysters and to make it easier for us. We filled those
orders, packing the oysters into crates stapled together from scrap
wood, making sure the oysters were right side-up (so they wouldn't
empty out their water and die and go bad), packing them in tightly so
they wouldn't move, covering them with wet seaweed, and tying the
lids on. This, of course, was already after all the work of sifting
out the mud, dunking the oysters in boiling water to kill off the
parasites that live on their shells, and sorting them into different
sizes depending on their weight and shape. Then we loaded the
pre-orders and cases of unpackaged oysters into the trucks for the
next day.
The next day, Maman and I left the
house at six to pick up cousin Nathan and drive the hour and a half
to St. Georges-sur-Loire, a village near Angers where we'd be selling
our oysters. My host brother and sister worked at the Nantes market
the same day, but got to sleep in an extra half-hour since Nantes is
much closer to home. In total, my uncle sent out 6 or 7 trucks to
different markets that day, so there was enough employment
opportunities for every one of my cousins and I. When we got there,
we set up three tables piled high with pre-orders for Nathan to deal
with, and the truck for Maman and me to take of.
Me in the truck:
Selling oysters is a complicated
business. First you have to ascertain if the customer has pre-ordered
or not, since often they haven't figured out whether they should be
talking to the people in the truck or the guy standing by the massive
pile of pre-orders. (Don't judge them – French people are a little
slow, okay? ;) ) If they haven't pre-ordered, you need to find out
what kind of oyster (or clams, or bigorneaux) they want, and how
many. Bigorneaux, by the way, are something that my dictionary tells
me is a “winkle” in English, but I've never heard of winkles, so
maybe we don't have them in the US. Anyway, they're a kind of snail.
Sometimes the customer knows right away, and comes up to you saying
“Hello! I'd like 3 dozen oysters, caliber 3, please.” But
sometimes they don't know what kind of oysters they want, and then
you have to explain it to them.
Oysters get sorted into 5 sizes,
depending on weight. The very biggest ones are ones, and the very
smallest are fives, with medium-size oysters therefore being threes
and fours and big-ish oysters being twos. Oysters that are too long
to be considered an ideal shape get sorted into their own category –
longs, which are cheaper. Because longs come in all different sizes,
it is the only type of oyster we sell by weight and not by the dozen.
Sometimes people will ask for a round number of kilos of longs, which
is easy (3.50€ per kg x nmb kg = price), but sometimes they
stubbornly want, for example, two dozen longs, in which case you have
to count two dozen longs, weigh them, and multiply 3.50€ by a
number that isn't necessarily round, which is just unnecessarily
cruel.
Here are the different calibers of
oysters:
Now, I'd like to impress you with just
how difficult it is to sell oysters. If someone asks for 4 dozen
oysters of caliber 4, you first have to multiply 4 x 13 (a baker's
dozen, just in case some of the oysters are bad) to get 52. Then you
look on our handy price chart to multiply the price of that caliber
times the number of dozens. I don't remember how much it is exactly,
but let's say 3.30€ per dozen, which sounds about right. So while
you're getting out the right size bag for 4 dozen oysters, you tell
the customer, “That'll be 13.20€, please,” so they can get
their money in order while you count. Then you have to count 52
oysters, while at the same time conversing with the customer so they
feel that you're a friendly around-the-corner oyster seller, and
listening for oysters that ring.
I
don't know how to describe the sound that bad oysters make, but in
French they call it “ringing.” Oysters with holes in their shells
make a dry, hollow sound when they clack against other oysters. If an
oyster has a hole, that means it didn't survive the boiling water
bath to kill off the parasites, and therefore it's already been dead
for awhile. Oysters have to be eaten right after they die or they
aren't good, so a dead oyster is an unsellable one. So as you're
counting to 52 under your breath and asking the customer if they're
having a nice holiday season, you also have to listen for oysters
that ring hollowly as you throw them in the bag, so you can take them
out and not sell bad oysters. It is one of the most challenging
multi-tasking manoeuvers I've ever been asked to perform, somewhat on
the level of playing a challenging piano accompaniment to a choir of
confused singers who need cues.
After
you've successfully counted 52 oysters, you have to deal with the
change. The customer gives you a 20€ bill, you kindly ask if he
wouldn't have 3.20€ of change (because we always run out of
change), but often he doesn't. Oh well, 20 minus... how much was the
price again? 13.20. You count out 80 cents, having to double-check
the markings on the coins since (we're pretending you're me) you're
still unfamiliar with euro coins. 50 cents plus 20 cents plus 10
cents. Now we're at 14€, so I still owe 6€. That's one 5€ bill
and a 1€ coin, since the smallest paper denomination in euros is
5€. Once you've finally got the change right, you have to hand it
to the customer in a way that shows them you've counted correctly –
generally I try to start with large denominations, handing them the
bill, the euro coin, and then sort of saying “and 80 cents” and
putting the other three coins on top, since I doubt they really care
if I got the 80 cents wrong. (I could be wrong, I'm not a
professional!) At first it doesn't sound that bad, but you ought to
be terrified of making a mistake and short-changing the customer or
short-changing your boss, and after a full morning of mental math,
it's pretty exhausting, especially since it's in French, and I'm
incapable of doing math in French – numbers remain the only thing I
have to translate.
It
wasn't an exceptionally busy market day (not that I would know; it
was my first), but we sold 7 crates of oysters and had a decent
amount of pre-orders. As our number of customers dropped off steeply,
Nathan and I headed around the corner to the boulangerie and the
charcuterie to buy two baguettes, three slices of ham, and some
rillettes to make sandwiches. After lunch, we packed up our tables,
organized our cash register (though I'm not sure if you can call a
box full of money a cash register), and drove home. Well, Maman
drove. Nathan and I slept. Heehee. Sometimes I'm glad I can't drive
in France.
And
sometimes I can't believe the story I'm living. I feel incredibly
lucky that when I'm old, this will be one of my stories. That I'll be
able to casually mention “When I was young and living in France, I
spent Christmas eve selling oysters for my host uncle.” No big
deal. Not only is a year abroad already a good story, but the typical
exchange student would be talking about buying oysters from the
quaint, charming little oyster stand on the corner. But not me. I was
inside the oyster stand, trying to figure out how many oysters six
baker's dozens make (it's 78). I win.
Now
that you know everything there is to know about oysters, I suppose
I'll tell you how my Christmas was, too. On Christmas eve (after a
hot shower to wash off the oyster smell and a short nap) we went
across the street to my aunt's house for a dinner that lasted until
midnight. I was pretty sleepy, so was glad to come home and fall into
bed despite enjoying the dinner. On Christmas morning, we found that
Père Noël (Father Christmas, aka Santa Claus) had come by despite
the fact that we hadn't put our slippers under the tree (the French
equivalent of stockings). My favorite present is the veritable
mountain of Kinder chocolate that my host sister gave me, since she
can't believe that we don't have Kinder in the US.
A sample of my mountain of Kinder (because some of them are in the fridge and I already ate some of them):
I also got a
wonderful warm winter scarf knitted by my mother, as well as socks
and mittens and tights and dried tapioca so I can make bubble milk
tea, and a lovely necklace and massage appointment with my host
sister from my host mom. I gave a Hollister shirt to my sister, an
Apple t-shirt to my brother (who loves everything Apple), and
miscellaneous presents for my parents. It was a pretty cheerful and
fun Christmas morning, with everyone being pleased and appreciative
of their presents.
For
lunch, which is the biggest meal of the day for most French holidays,
we went back to our aunt's house, bringing along presents for the
little cousins. The only other remarkable event of the day is that I
tried an oyster, which I already knew I wouldn't like (seafood is the
only thing I don't eat) but thought I should make sure. It was gross.
I enjoy selling oysters and now I know a lot about them, but I still
don't like eating them. After lunch, which finished around 6pm, I
spent the rest of the day skyping back home to watch my family open
presents and catch up with them. All in all, it was a lovely
Christmas, and I didn't even feel homesick. I think the fact that I
was involved in festivities, even if they weren't my family's
festivities, means that I didn't feel the distance as acutely as I
might have. As it was, I felt more sad about missing Thanksgiving and
Hanukkah than about Christmas.
Now
we're just waiting for January 1st,
when we leave for the Alps. I have very little to do, so I've been
running, painting things for Maman, and watching hysterical old
French comedies with my host sister. Life is good.
Now
for some good old French-Canadian music, because our Canadian cousins
do it best.
Garolou,
La
Vendée
Mes
Aïeux, Dégéneration
La
Bottine Souriante, La
Montagne du Loup
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