Crisps - Interculturally

In France and Germany crisps are called "chips". But let's not worry about that at the moment. There are enough intercultural conundrums surrounding crisps, crisp eating and the attitudes towards them. You wouldn't think so, would you?

In Britain eating crisps is the most humdrum, every-day activity imaginable. Go to a Boots, and they're part of the "Meal-Deal". Go to a newsagent, and they're there, nicely stacked in a rack. In the supermarket, they come in huge sack-like multi-packs. Crisps are essentials.

A very different "crisp-scenario" presents itself in Germany. There, crisps are stashed away in the "snacks"area of the supermarket. The bags look uniform, and come in only one size- quite a large size, approx. 4 servings of a Walkers packet. And - especially signifcantly - they overwhelmingly come in ONE flavour: "Paprika", sometimes called "Hungarian". Which explains why Germans often call crisps generically "Paprika-Chips".

In Britain, there's prawn cocktail flavour, grilled steak, Marmite, salt and vinegar (one of the most popular of course), cheese and onion, ketchup... you name it. And in fact Walkers did just that with its Social Media campaign "Do Us A Flavour".(http://bit.ly/mxfPNG) In Germany this exercise would have probably resulted in another paprika flavour! (That said, very recently, German producers have actually created some whacky flavours themselves, amongst them "Currywurst", Wasabi, or pumpkin oil flavour.) The French stick firmly to their No.1 flavour "salé" (ready salted.) Oh, and in Ireland life is really difficult if you're not a Cheese&Onion fan.

But the most surprising thing is, that Germans would not ever dream of eating crisps during the day. "Chips" are strictly for evenings. Offered to friends in a bowl, put on the table as a "TV snack", an ideal accompaniment to beer and football on the telly. (Not surprising you need those big bags!)

I find it fascinating that even such an ubiquitous thing as crisps has an unbuilt intercultural factor. Same thing, so many different habits, flavours, associations connected to it!

(In Praise) Of Teabags and Nescafé

What sparked this off? I'm neither a teablogger nor coffee afficionado. And yet something I read recently struck a chord, and sparked off an "Intercultural Musing."

I've always liked tea, and have never been very fond of coffee. I don't mind it, mind. I find these either/or, only this/never that decisions that people make in their lives tedious. Cat or dog? France or England? Beach or mountains. I always say "both!" to all of them.

So okay, I prefer tea, slightly. My memories of coffee are exclusively associated with Germany. Relatives coming "zum Kaffee". The table already layed at their arrival, tablecloth, tiny forks ("Kuchengabeln") - and in the kitchen, something that smelled good. Coffee brewing. Many, many spoonfulls of ground coffee ladled into a "Melitta"-Filtertüte, the drip drip of the coffee machine would soak the ground coffee into a hot brown, fairly obscene looking dark brown mess. Then the pouring into the tiny cups at the table. Lots of milk,. sometimes cream. The result? An infernally evil tasting brew, indescribable in its glissando of sour and bitter. Maybe foul is the only word to describe it. The fuss, the taste. "Noch jemand Kaffee?" Err, no thanks.

Coming to England changed all this. No coffee machines, no brown disgusting mess to be disposed of. No Kuchengabeln, Milchkännchen*.. no fuss. Nescafé in a mug - hot water, milk straight from the carton, if any. (Since changed, obviously - but Nescafè is thankfully still very popular).

Relief. A new world. Freedom.

Tea: A teabag in a mug. Hot water. Milk, sugar if you wanted. Glorious. If you never had a cup of tea made from a teabag of English (origins unspecified) Breakfast tea in a mug, you have no idea how good tea is. And equally importantly, how blissful the escape from fussiness is. I will never own a Milchkännchen, neither will I be the proud owner of a tea basket, tea egg or tea sieve. No brown sludgey mess of tea leaves or wet coffee. The embarrassing word "barrista" will not be used, and the condescending chatter of tea snobs will not be heard.

That's the sort of self-confidence changing countries gives you.


*A tiny milk jug matching your cups and saucers in design.