Pardon my French

True, such a development was in the cards. In truth, it took longer to come about than many of us feared. Since classical Greek and German were dropped from the senior high school curriculum in the early forties, we knew that Latin would be next. Then the Roman Catholic church, in her eagerness to meet the masses at their own level, discarded all the mystery of its rituals by going folksy and giving Latin its coup de grace.

In Brazil, educational reformers decreed a "mission impossible" the so-called simplification of the Portuguese spelling. Thus an ancient, respected, and respectable lingo, older than Spanish in its separate evolution, morphology, and grammar -- was to become phonetic. Any term judged foreign was supposed to shed the spelling complications of the source language and be Brazilianized. Even if it meant using a forceps, a sledge hammer, a crowbar, a triphammer, a bulldozer, or all five together. It spawned innumerable words and proper names and a mass display of nationwide ignorance.

So the current fashion is to pretend that Brazilians " -- born great polyglots" even those who can hardly read -- are entitled to invent new spellings for old words. Words whose pronunciation they have no idea of. Unfortunately, the Brazilian Academy of Letters is a lethargic bunch of superannuated authors. Not at all an ultimate authority on language, as are the Real Academia of Spain, or l'Académie Française. So current Brazilian spellings not only look dumb. They generated an attitude of contempt for logic, consistency, etymology, historical grammar, and of respect for other people's languages. It made any show of linguistic wisdom a mark of obsolescence, obduracy, elitism, plutocracy and only God knows what else.

So we now have a thoroughly sub-suburban looking "Nova Iorque," while York is written as before. Traditional Portuguese forms for Moscow, Singapore, Antwerp have been reinvented as Moscou (taken from the French form and sounding "moscoo," Cingapura (an excruciating stupidity) and Antuérpia. It may be argued, to a degree of truth, that too many French words were already used in Brazil by pedants. Show-offs preferred to say petits-pois and champignons, instead of the more common "ervilhas" (peas) and "cogumelos" (mushrooms). There were also other terms that seem to be French, but were sheer local fabrications, such as "baton"(lipstick) which of course is called in French rouge à lèvres; "casse-têtes" (policeman's truncheon) which the French call bâton de gendarme. And "sutiã" (bra) that does come from soutien gorge (breast support). In this case, it was English that got it wrong, since bra comes from brassière, the metallic arm (bras) of a suit of armour, such as worn by knights of yore.

What's going to happen to the high priests and priestesses of the haute cuisine? The very same art of cooking that according to French (who else?) author Blaise Cendrars, is the paramount part of the Triple Culinary Crown -- together with Brazilian cooking and Chinese cooking? Are they going to climb down from their pedestal and pressure translators and interpreters to provide them with Brazilian equivalent terms? God forbid!

In any collection of such terms, one must begin with chef de cuisine or chef. He's the chief, the leader, the boss, the commander on the bridge of a ship, as a complete kitchen has been compared to. In America the "democratization" of the term made it lose much of its brilliance. Today, in the trade they never talk about "cook," which has its own dignity and value: in practically every US eatery, all the cooks are called chefs, including single solitary kitchen hands in a sandwich joint that serves potato chips in bags.

The list of French culinary terms is immense. A quick perusal shows that some are no less than essential. For instance, what will we say instead of hors d'oeuvre or mayonnaise? What dreadful names will make us forget all the wonderful sauces and dressings, such as vinaigrette, hollandaise, marseillaise, niçoise, auvergnat, béarnaise and specially pistou -- made with mashed garlic and basil, plus tomato paste cheese, and olive oil?

What new names will such regal soups bear? What to call the delightful vichyssoise which should be properly honored by Americans -- with its proper pronunciation, vee-shee-swah-ze -- seen that it was born in New York City in the hands of the great chef Louis Diat, who launched a cold version of the traditional potage Parmentier? Will onion soup satisfy the gentle reader as fully as the soupe à l'oignon, with its rich bread garnishment and the lip-smacking melted cheese? Can a petite bourgeoise onion soup, even when preceded by the adjective French, play the role of a glorious golden key to a Bohemian night at four o'clock in the morning, in the centuries-old market, Les Halles? Served, hot as the devil, in a brown petite terrine with the worthy company of a light as breeze Pelure d'oignon (onion skin) wine or a little more robust Chateauneuf du Pape? Good God ("Bon Dieu") just remembering is enough ça suffit to make me cry!

Great knowledge and much talent will be required to rename such dishes as bouillabaisse (ancestor to the New Orleans Jambalaya), the quiches in their several local versions, Niçoise, Lorraine, Dijonnaise, etc., dishes à la grècque ( in a manner the French believe to be Greek, that is cooked in marinade and served cold), the dainty and delicate cuisses de grénouille ( very small and tender frogs' legs), escargots des vignerons de Bourgogne (snail from Burgundy vineyards), tripes à la mode de Caen (a 13-hour metamorphosis of the lowly tripe into a fabulous monument to the human palate), filet mignon, canetons aux navettes (duck with turnips), all sorts of cassoulets (beef, pork, mutton, lamb stews). Also the rôtis (roasts) of the lean French grassfed beef that often is lardé to become juicy, succulent, and marvelous.

Do you want something light and fast. You may pick an anchoyade, a hot anchovy canapé, or a pâté de foie gras, pâté de campagne, pâté maison, spread on pieces of crisp baguettes, vol au vent, crudités variées (raw vegetables) and one of several hundred cheeses: Roquefort, Brie de Meaux, Camembert, Pont l'Évêque, Saint Paulin, Cantal, Sainte Maure, Belletoile triple crème, Dauphinois, Coulomiers, Reblochon, Valençay, St. Marcellin, Comté, Beaumont, Boursin triple crème, Mimolette, Munster, Tomme de Savoie, Fromage au marc de raisins, Bleu de Bresse.

Will I dare mention desserts? Well, I must, since dessert is itself a French word. Do you like mousse? Compote? Profiteroles? Crème caramel? Fraises soufflées? Not being a cook myself, my knowledge of French kitchen terminology is limited, but here are some terms I have heard: en bain marie, poché, grillé, bonne femme, au naturel, en croûte, meunière, à la marinière, farci, à la mode (meaning braised, not with ice cream added), gratiné, au gratin, à la bordelaise (in the Bordeaux style), à l'armoricaine (Armorica is the ancient name of Brittany).

For a good measure, a few last French cuisine terms, not in any particular order: pâte brisée, fonds de cuisine (beef or chicken stock), purée, aux champignons, bourride (a soul-satisfying fish soup of Provence with garlic mayonnaise), coquilles Saint Jacques (scallops), riz de veau (veal sweetbreads), poule & poulet (hen and chicken, poule also means a woman of easy virtue, a bimbo, a tart), sauté, rognons (kidneys), cervelle au beurre noir (brains with burned butter sauce), sauté de lapin au vin blanc (sauteed rabbit with white wine), homard (lobster), aubergine (eggplant), tomates, huile d'olive (olive oil), haricots verts (green beans), cresson (water cress), escarole, concombre (cucumber), cornichons (gherkins, small pickled cucumbers).

In the twelfth century, when William the Conqueror won the battle of Hastings and went on to rule the Saxons, the French bequeathed the English language a fairly large number of household and farm terms. To the Saxon breeder, a swine was a hog, but to the French courtiers who ate the pigs, it was porc; and that's why today we say and write pork. The ox, which we now call usually a steer, was boeuf in French, and from that we got beef; shepherds bred and tended sheep but as food comes mutton from the French mouton; similar was the fate of calf, which the French enjoyed at the table with the name of veau, from which we derived our veal.

No write-up about what the Brazilians are being forcibly deprived of in terms of the French language would be complete without mentioning love and sex. Both are fields where the French traditionally excel and have quite a reputation and where the Brazilians endeavor to compete courageously. Let's examine a few of those words and expressions that seem to confirm that "the difference... between opera and barbershop singing is much smaller than the difference between sex as the last generation came to accept it and sex as it can be."

First and foremost comes the billet doux, if and when one has the time to write a sweet note, a love note. There is science and art in it. And I speak with the authority of one who has lectured singles' groups on how to turn out the most effective ones. Then comes bidet, a puzzling artifact in America but widely used in Europe (the UK excepted) and Latin America, where it is deemed not only useful, comfortable for many uses and, above all hygienic. (Once in Rio, when I was showing an apartment I wanted to let, a potential tenant, a lady who worked at the US Consulate General, enquired me why the bathroom included such equipment. "Is it to bathe the babies in?" she mused innocently. I could not resist the opportunity of a low-class pun: No, madam. It is to wash the babies out."

It was the French who coined the expression faire l'amour, which has one single meaning. In English, oddly enough, "to make love" depends on the preposition. If you make love to G. you probably are limiting yourself to kissing, petting, embracing. But if you make love with, well, you are on the right track, going all the way, having sex with G. Colloquially, the French say baiser (to kiss) when kissing is not the main dish. They mean "to do it." So, how do they say to kiss? Embrasser (to embrace), sometimes enhanced by the addition of sur la bouche (on the lips).

Cassolette means "perfume box," but not literally. It does not come from being bathed in cologne or expensive perfumes. It is the whole body, the sweet, attractive, irresistible odor of the entire body. A clean smell of well shampooed hair, warm and silky skin, breasts, armpits (preferably unshaven and with the natural fragrance that comes from using good soap and discreet perfumes), the genitals and the clothing she has worn. Nowadays, all these essential qualities are demanded of the male partner too, although his body is called cassolette only in very special circumstances and with special people. Particular attention should be given to how good les fesses (the butt) smell.

How does one position oneself in relation to one's partner is extremely important, and you all know it. The French, however, have specific names for each. I don't mean only soixante-neuf, the very popular sixty-nine, but croupade, à la négresse and cuissade, three slightly varied kinds of rear entry. Among the face to face postures, in flanquette the woman and the man lie on their sides, she puts one leg between his, he reciprocates. This is a reverse cuissade and is highly prized by couples who do it well, while riding the partner's leg. There is a variation where both legs of one partner are flanked by the legs of the other.

The "missionary position" is called in French matrimonial. There is nothing wrong with it as many Brazilians -- and indeed people of all nationalities -- can attest. But it should be part of an amorous répertoire, never a routine. Incidentally, it was the playful Polynesians who set the term "missionary position" in circulation.

Have you heard of ombli (navel) as a venue of delightful jeux d'amour (love games)? Well, even if it isn't usually an erogenous zone, it may become one, with the help of -- attention! -- whipped cream with a few drops of Amaretto, Grand Marnier or Drambuie. It's better to try it in summer or any season not requiring too much bedlinen. And, for heaven's sake, don't worry if you make a bit of a mess. I'm assured that it is more comfortable, and enjoyable, than eating crackers in bed, alone, and shedding crumbs around. Use your imagination but first consult your partner. Does he/she object to vanilla ice cream with bits of nuts, or small pieces of peach, apricot, kiwi, whatever? What about a strawberry, a cherry, raisins? A drop of mint liqueur, like Crème de Menthe, or Chartreuse, or perhaps Cointreau?

There is absolutely no rule either against sliding this treatment further down, if the bodies are willing no matter what the Itamaraty Diplomatic School may say. Then les grandes lèvres (big lips) come on their own, enjoy themselves, please the small lips tasting them, and maybe smack them. It might evolve into a feuille de rose (rose leaf), an exquisite "linguistic" exercise covering the whole body and every one of its nooks and crannies. For this experience to be really successful, though, a pit stop on a bidet is de rigueur. This will be confirmed by any "connoisseur" (an ancient French word, now strictly English. It's pronounced like "cono soor" as in Cono Sur of South America. The current French word with same meaning has changed to connaisseur as it comes from the verb "connaître" which replaced "connoître" about two centuries ago. In this connection, research, if you will, the Japanese-looking French term gamahuche.

To wrap this brief against the decreed demise of the French language in the lowest echelons of the carrière, let's have pattes d'araignée (spider's paws) execute on a welcoming body, ear lobes, upper lip, nipples, inside the arms and legs, groins, armpits, foot soles, nape, temples, belly, lower back, their breezy digital dance at the preferred rhythm, eliciting sighs and cries of maman, mamãe, mama, Mutti, mamma.

Finally, please be informed that condoms are called in French capottes anglaises (or capots anglais) honoring Her Britannic Majesty's Dr. Condom, who invented them to protect against V.D. the British soldiers then "touring" Egypt. In a wrongful reprisal for the perceived insult, the English -- in a rare lapse of humour -- began to call them "French letters." Et la contredanse est finie