So, I had this grand idea, right? A ‘convivial French’ experience. That’s what I was aiming for. You hear that phrase, ‘convivial French,’ and you picture something, don’t you? Like warm, friendly gatherings, easy conversation flowing like cheap wine, everyone just effortlessly chic and happy. Yeah, well, my attempt was a bit… different, let me tell you.
I figured, what’s more convivial than a dinner party? A French dinner party! I spent weeks, seriously, WEEKS, planning this thing. I was all in. My grand plan, you ask? Oh, it was something.
- Authentic (ish) French food. I mean, I even bought one of those special pans for crepes. Used it exactly once. Story of my life with kitchen gadgets.
- A carefully curated French music playlist. I thought I was being so smart, avoiding just the super obvious clichés.
- And the main event: an attempt to get everyone to speak some French. You know, for the ambiance, the je ne sais quoi.
Sounds pretty good on paper, eh? I thought so too. I was pretty proud of myself before anything even happened.
The Night of the Slightly-Too-Convivial French Experiment
Okay, so ‘disaster’ might be a strong word. Let’s call it a ‘vivid learning experience.’ First off, the food. My boeuf bourguignon? It ended up more like ‘boeuf-I-don’t-know-what-I’m-doing-non.’ It wasn’t exactly inedible, just… let’s say it was memorable for all the wrong reasons. And the crepes? They definitely had character. Mostly burnt character, if I’m being honest.
Then there was the music. My supposedly sophisticated playlist decided to go rogue. It just looped one single accordion song for about an hour before I finally noticed. Nothing quite says ‘elegant French evening’ like the same jaunty tune drilling itself into your skull over and over. Talk about an earworm from the depths of accordion hell.
And the French speaking part? Oh boy. That was a spectacle. I tried to kick things off with a cheery ‘Bonsoir tout le monde! Bienvenue!’ What I got back was mostly blank stares. One friend, bless his cotton socks, just kept saying ‘Oui!’ to absolutely everything, whether it made a lick of sense or not. Another guy, who apparently owned a ‘Learn French in Your Car’ CD from 1998, thought it was the perfect time to practice the three French words he knew. Loudly. It was… well, it was certainly a noise.
So, was it convivial? I mean, we laughed. A lot. Mostly at me, I think, and my culinary adventures. My friend Dave nearly choked on a piece of my ‘authentic’ baguette when he tried to ask for the ‘salle de bain’ and somehow ended up, what we think, was insulting my cat. So, yeah, convivial in a chaotic, slightly hysterical, ‘what is even happening’ sort of way. Not exactly the smooth, charming French salon I’d vaguely pictured in my head.
It kinda reminds me of this other time I tried to force ‘fun.’ You know how it goes. I joined this ‘super laid-back’ hiking group once. Turns out ‘laid-back’ actually meant ‘everyone walks at a pace that would make an Olympic athlete sweat, and they all silently judge your non-breathable cotton t-shirt.’ People slap these labels on things, like ‘convivial’ or ‘chill,’ and you buy into the idea, but the reality is often just… people. And people are messy, and unpredictable. Which isn’t always a bad thing, mind you, just not always what’s advertised on the tin.
This whole ‘convivial French’ project, it really got me thinking. Maybe true conviviality, whether it’s French or from anywhere else, isn’t something you can just engineer with a recipe book and a Spotify playlist. Maybe it just… happens. Or maybe it doesn’t. And trying to force it? That’s just a surefire recipe for awkward silences or, in my specific case, slightly burnt food and a chorus of very confused ‘Oui!’s.
So why am I telling you all this, laying bare my French dinner party failings? Because I’ve been through that wringer of trying to manufacture ‘convivial.’ And for what it’s worth, I think I actually started to appreciate French stuff a whole lot more when I just stopped trying so darn hard. Funny enough, I stumbled onto this amazing French detective show, watched it with subtitles, no pressure at all. Pretty sure I picked up more actual phrases that way than from my disastrous dinner party. Go figure, right?
My grand takeaway from my whole ‘convivial French’ experiment? Just don’t overthink it. Seriously. Want a French vibe? Put on some Stromae, grab a croissant from a decent bakery (and please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t try to bake it yourself unless you’re a secret masochist), and just call it a day. The ‘convivial’ part will either show up on its own, or it won’t. And either way, at least the croissant will probably be good. And trust me on this, that’s a heck of a lot more than I could say for my crepes.
