July marks my 6th month in the French countryside. My current residence is in a chateau located in a town called Assay, which is within a 10-minute drive to the commune of Richelieu, and an hour’s drive outside of Tours. It is as country as country gets, and living out here is as charming as you can imagine. The summer brings colorful sunsets and a symphony of sheep bells, crickets, and pheasant cries to accompany you in the night. The stars show up with no fail, and the night sky provides a gorgeous backdrop as you think about what to fill your day with tomorrow.
In my case, social integration is underway, facilitated by the first few friends I’ve met in touring chateaux all over the country. Integrating hasn’t been completely painless, but easier than I thought. There are many methods one can try. They include learning the language to the level of useful interaction (I’ve just learned how to order a spare tire for the car), knowing your geography by way of traveling like a local (I discovered that the best live poultry market is in Lencloître, which opens on a schedule you only know by word of mouth), and understanding cultural references through art and media (watching Who Wants to be a Millionaire in French is such an underrated way to learn their culture and history).
These are choice moves if you want to navigate a new life in the French countryside. There are more, but very few are as effective as the long, family style dinners, which are as informative as they are fun.
The French countryside dinner is best described as a stylish offering of the heart and soul, over wine. Warm and casual, the dinner is a social safe space where all judgement is suspended. It is not uptight, but you must participate. Conversations are prompted by someone’s questions, and everyone shares their thoughts in equal portion. But the real treat is that no one leaves until everyone has opened up a vein or two. Light debates are sure to happen, but somehow they always end with a toast and a kiss.
This takes time. And if you want to be a good dinner guest that gets invited a second time, you’ll have to respect the dynamic—not that it’s hard. In the US, I used to eat dinner for as long as the conversations hold, which is usually about 15 minutes. But out here, I’ve sat through 4-hour meals that taught me more about people than years of friendship ever did.
Getting with the Rhythm
My main problem about these things is that I arrive at the venue way too early. Also, the first time, I came empty-handed. Major booboo in any home dinner, not just in the country. Blame it on being an indoor cat for too long. I’ve redeemed myself at the recent dinners, so hopefully the faux pas are forgiven.
My friends, Oscar Rinaldi and Jeff Zeidman, owners of the Renaissance gem that is Chateau de Belebat, are masters of the dinner experience. They lovingly advise that arriving fashionably late at about 15 to 20 minutes after call time is completely acceptable.
The dinner prep at Belebat is marvelous choreography. As a guest, you can catch the tail-end of the prep as you get ready to sit at the table. But also playing the role of videographer behind some of Belebat’s content, I’ve witnessed this magic from start to finish.
Oscar designs his dinners as an intimate experience with the chef. Drinks are served in the chateau kitchen where he preps. Being trained at the Ritz, he dazzles with the technique behind his popular potato gratin or the spaghetti carbonara. Guests become part of the culinary story, instead of being mere spectators. When you witness how your food is prepared, it feels shameful to rush through it.
At a dinner like this, it is appropriate to show up with something. My curated list: a bottle of wine is the staple, sometimes an appetizer or dessert (my go-to is a tarte tatin), and a set of interesting questions to ask. You won’t be there to only talk about yourself.
Dress comfortably, but appropriately. You really don’t need to overdo. If it’s in the countryside and among friends, it will usually be a family style dinner where it’s more relaxed than a plated dinner.
As casual as I’m making this sound, there are certain formalities still observed, like seating arrangements. You are highly encouraged to sit next to and across people you haven’t met. For couples that can’t stand to be apart, you’re going to have to get out of your comfort zone.
There’s also a rhythm to observe through the progression of the courses. It’s not a program, but for a table of newly-acquainted guests, it goes thus, generally: say your pleasantries at apéro, know at least five things about the people next to you by the time the entrée is served, join the lively group discussion during the main course, tidy up the light debate over cheese and dessert, and embrace a bit of cheekiness with your digestif to wrap up the night.
In Vino Veritas
I’ve learned not to make my mind up about someone until I’ve heard their story, two wine bottles in.
If I really want to get to know any person, I find out how they deal with money, conflict, and failure. It’s an ambitious venture at the dinner table, having only a few hours to discover all this. But in the first two hours, you notice the little signs.
Almost right away, you can gauge a person’s patience and curiosity by their ask-share ratio. I make no judgement even if they share more than they ask about me. In fact, I prefer this as an introvert, but especially if they’re actually interesting people. Sometimes, I do appreciate the hard questions that force me to dig beneath the surface. The sincerity, however, you won’t really be able to tell until the next dinner when they reveal what they remember from what you said.
What is particularly intriguing is the practice of pouring for others first. It’s a heartwarming gesture I see at every dinner. This could simply be the effortless formality of French wine culture, or an unspoken, but commonly known gesture of love. Whatever the rationale, I have kept it in my little pocketbook of things to disarm people with.
By hour three, a different level of intimacy emerges. This is when people stop performing. At this stage, you get depth. The experience is kind of a wild card, and why I find these dinners very educational and worthwhile.
It is fascinating to hear what people choose to talk about when they’re relaxed. Some complain, some celebrate. I’ve had the honor of joining two dinners at Château de Champchevrier, and on both occasions, our host, Gustaf, regaled us with the tale of how he met his wife, Laurence. No details were spared. To be the sole, joyful topic of interest when your husband is tipsy is another level of marriage goals I never thought I’d hope to unlock.
Just before supper on our first evening at Champchevrier, we had champagne at the rooftop where we all expressed our thoughts about the 2nd amendment of the US constitution. Lots of differences, all heard, all respected. In the end, those same differences gained us a deeper friendship, celebrated over rabbit and rice. I went home at 1AM that evening, realizing an indication of a successful dinner: when your guests arrive being certain people, and go home as themselves.
The Effort in the Magic
While the French are known to make everything look effortless, the countryside dinners are everything but. The details that leave you breathless are intentional and orchestrated. Their mastery of it comes in consistent practice. There is a reason why French dining is a culinary category on its own.
As an outsider, it might look like too much fuss around a casual dinner, but there is happiness to be found in making an effort; in always trying to improve. To dazzle. To discover. To leave people with a feeling. It’s this artful effort that is lost in many things now.
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In the US, meal time is mostly functional. You eat for sustenance, but for very little else beyond that. You meet because you sort of have to. And when you do, there’s always somewhere you need to be, right after. The deep conversations are reserved for Thanksgiving or Christmas, if that. If people can only put their phones away long enough to tell a coherent story about their day and ask others about theirs, they might learn that real life can be far more interesting than a 7-second TikTok video.
To be fair, the artful effort is so embedded in French DNA at this point, they don’t even feel like any of this is effort at all. The instinctive drive to entertain and gather around great food while you practice the art of conversation is passed on like religious faith.
But to what end, you might ask? Is it effort for effort’s sake? An excuse to drink? After all, alcohol is cheaper than water out here. Well, I say it’s for connection. In the end, it is the one thing we all crave, but do not always know how to obtain.
The countryside dinner reminds us that if you want to connect, you open yourself up first. You create the environment that inspires people to be honest with you. You might overshare, but that’s fine. There’s no such thing anymore anyway, in this day and age.
How much can you really know by dining with someone for four hours? A lot. But it really isn’t about discovering someone’s deepest, darkest secrets. It’s about the romance of knowing them, and being known fully in return.
Say what you will about the French, but you really can’t beat them at romance. ●
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Sixteen Ramos
Sixteen is an author, content strategist, and brand storyteller who writes about a variety of topics including A.I., online business, sales psychology, culture, and history. As the creator of The StorySelling Masterclass, she helps business owners tell compelling brand stories through content.
Sixteen Ramos
Sixteen is an author, content strategist, and brand storyteller who writes about a variety of topics including A.I., online business, sales psychology, culture, and history. As the creator of The StorySelling Masterclass, she helps business owners tell compelling brand stories through content.
