The New York Baguette Search: Results

I had high hopes for my New York City baguette search.  Armed with Internet research and recommendations from seasoned New Yorkers I hoped to test a solid half-dozen or so loaves in an attempt to find an acceptable stateside version of France's daily bread.  But as so often happens when I move to a new city, I thought I had all the time in the world to explore everything, only to remember, much too late, that time flies.  Especially when you’re having fun.  Before I knew it, moving had begun and my exploring had come to an end.  I did, however, manage to sneak in a taste-test of two baguettes.

Baguette # 1 - The Greenmarket Baguette

Who says France has all the best outdoor markets?  New York City’s Greenmarket organization has put together an impressive multi-borough schedule of farm fresh produce, humanely-raised meat, and all manner of locally-sourced/crafted/raised products.  The best Greenmarket of all is at Union Square, where the Saturday morning selection (and crowd) is impressive.  One stand promised “French-style baguettes,” so I swung by to make a purchase. But the minute I felt that dense-yet-soft stick of bread I knew they were imposters.  Sure enough, a tasting back at home revealed a total lack of flavor, an overly chewy interior, and absolutely none of that satisfying crunch you find with a true French baguette.  I didn’t eat more than a couple of bites before tossing this faux French bread into the trash where it belonged.  Beurk!


Baguette #2 - The Murray's Cheese Shop Baguette

Murray’s Cheese Shop is a swanky fromagerie located in the heart of the West Village.  I headed over there after work one evening with a mad craving for a simple dinner of charcuterie and cheese on a baguette.  It didn’t disappoint: The salami and Cremeux de Bourgogne were expensive but delicious.  The baguette?  It was good.  Not airy-and-light good, but rather airy-and-heavy (yes, that’s possible) good.  In fact, I wouldn’t call this “baguette” a baguette at all. It’s more like a “tradition,” which is one of the many varieties of long sticks of bread one finds in a French boulangerie.  A “ficelle” is another example.  When I lived in Paris I used to order “une tradi” on a regular basis to go with dinner, so I enjoyed sampling a version of this bread in New York City.  But I wasn’t able to find a true French baguette in the Big Apple.  Any suggestions for next time?

If you go:

Union Square Greenmarket
Runs Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday
Union Square West, New York City
Subway: Union Square 14th Street

Murray’s Cheese
254 Bleecker St., second location at 43rd and Lexington
Blissfully un-French in that it's open seven days a week!

America Remakes French Films

It took me awhile to figure out that "Dinner for Schmucks," a new movie starring Steve Carrel and Paul Rudd, was more than just a summer comedy with an unappealing promotional poster.  It's also a remake of a very famous French flim called "Le dîner de cons."  In fact, haven't a fair number of French films been remade in America?  A few that quickly came to mind were:

Mon père, ce héros - My Father the Hero

La cage aux folles - Birdcage

Trois hommes et un couffin - Three Men and a Baby

A Google search turned up an article that better outlines this Franco-American cinematic phenomenon, lists numerous French films that have been remade in the States, and includes video clips.  Anything missing from the list?

Ladurée in Los Angeles

This week, I'm back on the West Coast to celebrate our nation's birthday as well as my own. For the first vacation breakfast we headed downtown to a French restaurant in a section of Los Angeles that is well into a much-needed revival: Bottega Louie. The first thing you notice about Bottega Louie is that it's enormous. The interior has soaring ceilings, kitchens that open onto the dining floor, and multiple seating arrangements, including a full bar, a section of café-style tables, and a formal dining room. The second thing you notice about Bottega Louie is that it feels a lot like like a certain Paris-based Macaron Mecca called Ladurée.

Like Ladurée, Bottega Louie makes and sells a range of colorful macarons that are packaged in pastel colored boxes created to induce delighted oohs and aahs when revealed to the lucky participants of whatever dinner party, work gathering, or birthday celebration they attend. If macarons aren't your thing (guilty as charged), Bottega Louie also offers a full range of French-inspired tarts, éclairs, breads, beignets, and croissants. I picked up a $6.00 fruit tart with a Tahitian vanilla filling. In my opinion, it's the cream filling that can make or break a tart, and this particular rendition did not disappoint. Bottega Louie's breads and breakfast (we had lemon ricotta pancakes with blueberry syrup and an egg, cheese, and bacon sandwich) all hit the mark.

The main difference between Bottega Louie and Ladurée, other than geography and celebrity, is atmosphere. Bottega Louie is French-inspired in its menu, but American in its atmosphere - it's lively, friendly, and decidedly West Coast-relaxed. In contrast, dining at Ladurée is an exercise in proper Parisian behavior. The dining rooms are quiet, the servers aloof, and the portions minuscule. But they do make a mean pâtisserie.

The Everlasting Parisian Honeymoon

When I first arrived in New York City, I was what you might call bright eyed and bushy tailed.  I had never lived here before, and was brimming with excitement as I thought about the endless possibilities a summer in the Big Apple held.   I even blogged about my first impressions of the city, and they were mostly positive.  The people are so nice!  We're free to be you and me!  But one month later, after you've seen a pack of rats in the subway, found a roach in your shower, trampled through garbage lined streets that no one ever seems to clean up, and spent night after night in an urban apartment sans air conditioning during a brutal summer heat wave, your bright eyes start to dim.  The honeymoon is over.

I'm still glad to be here, and I know there are many good things to come this summer (and many good things that have already happened), but I now have a more realistic outlook on life in NYC.  In short, it's hard.  And often uncomfortable.  All of this musing on the city got me thinking about my first impressions of Paris.  Unlike New York, my first impressions of Paris were mostly negative.  The city felt overwhelming, and I didn't think it lived up to the hype.   I used to go so far as to claim that I hated Paris.  Why would anyone spend time in that gloomy city when they could hang out on the sunny beaches of the South of France?

Unlike New York City, my honeymoon with Paris came after the first impressions.  And it has yet to end.  I visited Paris once more before moving there in February of 2008 and I didn't hate it!  I wandered the streets with my camera, spent time gazing in amazement at the Eiffel Tower, and downed sweet crêpes purchased from sidewalk vendors.  Paris was growing on me.  My appreciation for the city only continued to grow during the six months I lived there.  Even today, far away from France, I dream about Paris and all of its delights - from impromptu baguette and cheese picnics, to discovering a new favorite café, to never tiring of the view from the top of the Arc de Triomphe.

And it kind of makes sense that New York would immediately suck you and later spit you out, while your relationship with Paris grows stronger over time.  That's often how people describe friendships in the U.S. and France.  Americans make friends quickly, even immediately.  Someone you just met at a neighborhood get-together will soon know you entire life story, and you will know his or hers, and a new friendship (or, more likely, a friendship for the afternoon) is born.  But the French take weeks, months, even years to warm up to new people.  Friendships aren't immediate, they're something that develop slowly over time.  You have to get to know each other first, little by little. Just like me and Paris. 

Taking Amtrak

Americans who have spent time in Europe often lament the lack of convenient, high-speed and far-reaching rail service in their own country.  Eurail passes in hand, they've sprinted from London to Paris to Rome quickly and cheaply and wonder why they can't do the same from New York City to Chicago to Los Angeles.  The United States' used to be a world leader in railroads (see the 1800s), but today's network of trains in the New World is nowhere near as developed as it is across the Atlantic.  Nevertheless, options for train travel do exist, and I often wonder if we Americans think we don't have access to trains simply because we're not trying hard enough.  We've all heard of Amtrak, for example, but how many of us have actually used it? 

Until today, I was one of those Americans who had heard of Amtrak but never used it.  In fact, I had never even seriously considered using it before New York City-based colleagues told me to head up to my temporary summer assignment by heading to Washington, D.C.'s Union Station to buy a train ticket.  So, here I am, writing this blog from the comfort of Amtrak's Acela Express with service to Wilmington, Philadelphia, New York City, Boston, and a few other stops in between.  First impressions are important, and Amtrak has certainly passed the test.  Purchasing my ticket was a breeze (I used an automated machine at the station), the train staff is friendly and helpful (lots of "good mornings" and other pleasantries), and the train itself is comfortable and practical (loads of leg room and free wifi).

This train won't travel at the same speeds of, say, France's TGV - a technological marvel that can zip you from city to city at up to 320 kilometers per hour (199 miles per hour) - but, depending on your route and desired time frame, it's a decent alternative to flying.  I left Washington at 9:00 a.m. and can expect to arrive at Penn Station by 11:46 a.m.  It's a longer trip than by plane, but if you factor in the time it takes to check in at the airport, go through security, taxi around runways, wait for your bags, and travel from an airport to the city center, you're looking at an overall comparable time table.  Not to mention the superior comfort of a train, which can offer leg room, urban and countryside views, and the ability to travel with liquids that are larger than 3 ounces and not shoved into a tiny Ziploc bag.

Longer distances in the U.S. are still more manageable by plane.  Taking Amtrak from Washington, D.C. to Chicago will only run you $163 (my trip to NYC is $180, prices can vary), but the journey will take nearly 24 hours.  That's great if you have the time to enjoy a leisurely cross-country adventure, but the two-hour plane ride is more practical if you need to get there now.  Still, I can't help but wonder what would happen if Americans gave this travel option more of a chance.  We do have rails in the U.S., and maybe they're exactly what we need to relax and rediscover the simple pleasures of "getting there," by train, just like we did in Europe.

French Health Care

I've had it up to here with people misrepresenting the French health care system. As the U.S. discusses the kind of country it wants to be when it comes to providing its citizens with access to medicine, doctor's visits, and life-saving surgery, France is often used as a bogeyman. "Ooooh, watch out, we might turn into France! We might become Socialists!" As my second favorite country's name gets dragged through the mud, I can't help thinking about my own experience with health care in France. It wasn't perfect, but it certaintly wasn't the nightmare some people would lead you to believe.

As a graduate student at Sciences Po in Paris, I was covered under the French health care system. I paid the equivalent of $300 for the semester, which granted me comprehensive coverage. During this time, I went to a doctor's office three times and got lab work done once. I never waited longer than one waits in an American doctor's office, the facilities were not sub-standard, and the government didn't come between me and my doctor. No piles of paperwork to fill out (like I have in the U.S.). No worrying about whether or not my insurance would cover it (like I do in the U.S.). I simply chose the physician I wanted to see (none of this in-group, out-group crap), paid a few small fees (generally 22 euros for a visit, much of which was refundable), got my instructions or prescriptions from the doctor and went on with my life. The security of it all felt amazing.

Of course, no system is without flaw. I do remember the incident of the laboratoire misplacing my payment record for some lab work I had done. They kept sending bills to my apartment long after I was back in the states, and a French friend eventually had to go pay the bill for me, but hey, shit happens. The cost of said lab work? About 20 euros. For lab work, people! Does this sound like a terrible system to you? I know, I know, French people pay taxes to get this stuff. That's true, they do. But the French people I know, who are roughly my age, and who are employed, and who have the same level of education as I do are not crippled under the weight of taxes. They drive nice cars, go on three week vacations (leaving them still with two weeks or more for the year), live in comfortable apartments, and aren't saddled with thousands upon thousands of dollars of student loan debt. They also will never go bankrupt because they get sick. Wow, aren't you glad we don't have that system?

A Picnic out of Provence

An intense craving for fresh French food recently hit me out of nowhere. Maybe it's the memories from this time last year when I was getting some of my meals from a market on the Mediterranean coast, or maybe it's just that I've been stateside long enough for the novelty of eating my favorite American foods to have finally worn off. Whatever it is, I'm really starting to hope that Belgian markets and bakeries will be able to give me my fix. Belgium isn't France, but maybe the two country's marchés and boulangeries offer equally tasty wares?

In the meantime, I found a how-to article on creating a "grand and simple" Provençal feast that isn't helping matters much. My mouth waters just reading about the spread of fresh veggies, crispy baguette, and traditional aioli dip that typifies summer in one of France's most beautiful regions. The article offers up a simple recipe for Medjool dates stuffed with feta and spice as well as one for aioli. Top off your creations with items from the author's list of accompaniments and start enjoying a fresh taste of Provence at home. Lavender-scented breezes and rolling fields of sunflowers not included.

One More Day

I'm a big believer in vacation time. Men and women in the working world need and deserve time away from the office/restaurant/construction site/enter your workplace here to recharge their batteries, spend time with family and friends, pursue hobbies, and in general, enjoy life to the fullest. Americans are unlucky in vacations. As our European and other counterparts enjoy four or five or more weeks of paid time off each and every year, we languish in a system that thinks 13 days is generous. Many of us get only 10. Some take none at all. Oh, to be like my French friends and their mandated August and holiday season vacations with plenty additional free time in between.

If you think Americans need more time away from work, you can sign HomeAway's S.O.S. (Save Our Summer) petition asking Congress to make August 7th "National Vacation Day." Frankly, I think we need something more along the lines of a National Vacation Month, but I'm happy with any kind of step in the right direction.

A Taste of France in the U.S.

It's relatively easy to find French bread and pastries in the U.S. Even the most average supermarkets have something resembling croissants or baguettes. What's difficult if not impossible is finding authentic French bread and pastries. It's a search that brings never-ending disappointment and frustration to those of us who want to eat a real tarte aux fraises without having to book a trans-Atlantic flight. Baguettes in the U.S. are generally too bready and soft; our pain au chocolat is dense rather than flaky. In these harsh conditions, the best you can do is search out those rare, priceless establishments that come close to the real thing.

When I'm on the lookout for a crispy baguette in Minnesota, Breadsmith, a semi-national chain that has a few locations in the Twin Cities, is generally a good bet. Their bread is baked in special ovens imported from Europe, made fresh every morning, and given a steam injection treatment that helps create the crispy crust so popular in France. Here in DC, look no further than Patisserie Poupon on Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown. Their croissants, pastries, quiches, and even coffee will transport you out of the U.S. capital and into its French counterpart.

As much as the lack of a decent croissant in the U.S. frustrates me, I sometimes wonder if maybe I don't really want to eat ultra authentic French pastries in my home country. After all, part of the fun of going to France is knowing there are countless traditional boulangeries with all the trimmings waiting for me when I arrive. Would sipping a rich, chocolat chaud while eating my flaky croissant aux amandes on a Parisian terrace be as enjoyable if I could do the exact same thing back home? Probably not, so maybe I should just be content to search out delicious, yet americanized, French treats.

Why You'll Never Win a Staring Contest in France

Anyone who has ever ridden le métro in Paris and felt the multitude of eyes fixated upon them for no apparent reason knows that the French love to stare. Not the kind of eyes-averted-when-busted staring most of us engage in. I'm talking about an unabashed, unapologetic kind of staring that meets your return glance with complete and utter indifference. It takes some getting used to, but once you realize you don't just have to be the target of all that staring, you're allowed to actually engage in it yourself, the real fun can begin. Just be sure you kick the habit before returning to the non-staring community from whence you came. I've had to relearn that looking at other people on the DC subway system is a major faux pas.

For more on French staring, it's sibling, eavesdropping, and how you can enjoy these two pastimes while partaking in the café culture of France, check out the article I found and loved that discusses it all.

Le Barbecue

Who doesn't love a good barbecue? You really can't go wrong with the tangy smell of the grill, a cold beer in your hand, and hours of lawn games with your friends. After what seemed like 40 days and 40 nights of rain, DC was blessed with a beautiful weekend. So, under sunny skies and with the forecast set to 75 degrees Fahrenheit (24 Celsius) I gladly accepted an invitation to an acquaintance's post-wedding cookout. And though relaxing while cooking food over an open flame is by no means practiced exclusively in the United States, I think going to barbecues "like back home" is one of the things Americans sometimes find themselves missing while overseas. Or maybe it's just me.

Sure, I went to a handful of barbecues in France, which were largely similar to their American counterparts, but there were still a few glaring differences. For example, you'll most likely find beer at a French bbq, but you'll also find the obligatory bottles of red and white wine. Maybe I lived a sheltered life, but a fine Bordeaux was not something my Midwestern family brought to the backyard cookout. I never once saw hamburgers at a French bbq. Instead, you're guaranteed to find merguez on the grill. I loved putting that spicy, North African sausage on a big chunk of baguette with tons of ketchup. My French friends liked mustard. Dijon, not yellow, merci beaucoup. As for lawn games, I showed some guys how to throw a rugby ball like you would an American football once or twice, but that was about it.

There's one thing that seems to be true no matter where you grill: "barbecue" is synonymous with "pigging out." In general, the French tend to be more reasonable with their portion sizes than Americans, but that distinction wasn't terribly visible at the backyard (or rooftop!) cookouts I attended in France. I guess if you put a bunch of people around an open flame on a warm summer day all bets are off. Yesterday's bbq definitely upheld the tradition of abundance with piles of grilled meat, all manner of grilled vegetables, two forms of potato salad, and multiple delectable cherry pies. Attendees drank beer and played lawn games, with nary a baguette in sight. A true like back home barbecue.

Strange Bedfellows

For a while now I've been contemplating writing a post about how the French and the Americans are alike, which would be a change from the usual Parisian Spring format. I mostly spend time contrasting the two groups and their respective countries. But the interesting, and some would argue surprising, truth is that behind all the differences there are a lot of similarities. In fact, I think Americans and their French counterparts are more alike than either side would care to admit.

However, a post such as that will require a bit more planning. In the meantime, I stumbled across this entry from the Financial Times' Brussels Blog that gives us a preview of as to how the two groups sometimes play the same game. The piece tells us about a recent study that showed the French get more hours of sleep per day than anyone else in the industrialized world. Now, my American readers, before you go on a knee-jerk rant that includes the words "France" and "lazy" in the same sentence, guess who's number two...?

April Showers Bring May...Bridges?

May is a great time of the year to be in France. The weather is getting better, flowers are in bloom, and hordes of summer tourists haven't yet made their presence known. May is especially sweet if you work in France, as this one month is filled with more national holidays than Americans see in an entire quarter. But it's not just a few days off here and there; the French take this rapid succession of Labor Day, Victory in Europe Day, and Ascension to the next level by practically making a month-long vacation out of it. How do they manage this incredible feat? By using a special tactic they like to call "Les ponts de mai." The May Bridges.

It works like this: let's say Labor Day (May 1st for most of the world, why do Americans celebrate this in September?) falls on a Thursday. You automatically get Thursday off from work, but you want more, so you take Friday off too. This creates a "pont," or bridge, to the weekend. Do this three times during the month and you're hardly at the office at all! The tourism industry in France goes crazy offering all kinds of "pont" vacation deals, which the French take full advantage of by running off the to the south, the north, to foreign countries, or to anywhere that's not home. And you thought they only vacationed in August.

I guess Americans sort of do this too. If the Fourth of July is on a Thursday, for example, how many people are in the office on Friday? Or the Friday after Thanksgiving? It's just that we don't have a catchy, clever name for the phenomenon. "Four-day weekend" or "long weekend" don't exactly have the same ring to them as "Les ponts de mai." We also don't have a single month with three such glorious opportunities for building May bridges. The Christmas/New Year's week comes close, but that doesn't really count seeing as how much of the world's population has that deal going on. As I struggle to make it to Memorial Day - the first federal holiday since mid-February - I wish all my French and expat friends in France a Happy May. Send me a "wish you were here" postcard?

Two Wheels in Washington

I had heard rumors of a bike-sharing program in Washington, DC, but I had never really seen it in action. Did it truly exist? As a temporary resident of Paris I used to love renting Vélibs for quick jaunts along the Seine, weekend tours of the city, or late night post-revelry transportation; if there was a similar stateside program, it certainly hadn't attained the ubiquitous nature of its French counterpart. Until, maybe, now. On the day before Earth Day, Washington, DC Mayor Adrian Fenty announced he wants his city's Vélib-esque "SmartBike DC" program to expand from its current size of 10 stations to 100 stations, with over 1,000 rental bikes available to the residents of DC. Paris' cycle share has become a smash hit amongst Parisians, can our nation's capital do the same? I set out in search of a SmartBike DC rental station to find out.

The station I visited is located right outside the Foggy Bottom-George Washington University metro station. Hang a left at the top of the escalators and there they are. One of the first things I noticed was that the bikes were very basic, just like Vélib. No frills, only function. Two bikers were standing nearby so I started up a conversation: How does the program work? How many people are members of SmartBike DC? Where are the stations located? And why on earth don't these bikes have baskets on the front like the ones in Paris? Jerry, one of the guys I met, was a wealth of information. He told me that a subscription only cost $40 per year, and that a couple of hundred people had already signed up (Update: after sending Jerry the link to this story, he replied to let me know that it's actually a couple of thousand people). Both Jerry and the other renter were trying to return their two-wheelers, but had been thwarted by a full docking station. The same thing used to happen to me in Paris, proving that no system is perfect.

Would I try SmartBike DC and love it the way I tried and loved Vélib? Unfortunately, probably not. For starters, the program only operates in the District, and I live across the Potomac in Arlington. You can't even take the bikes outside of DC city limits. What's more, bikes are only available between the hours of 6 a.m. and 10 p.m. Not that I have a strong need for a bike in the middle of the night, but you never know (see reference to post-revelry use above). Three of the things I loved most about Vélib - wide city and suburb availability, use at all hours, basket for market wares or bag - can't be said for SmartBike. Nevertheless, I congratulate Jerry and everyone else who is getting this system off the ground in DC. Bike sharing has transformed the French capital and think it could do the same for the American one as well. If they ever extend into my neck of the woods, I'll be happy to join their ranks.

Crêpe Attack

If you follow me on Twitter, you know that last week I had a serious craving for crêpes. They've been missing from my diet ever since I moved back to the U.S. in August and I guess I just couldn't take it anymore. All I could think about was that light, fluffy dough warm off the griddle and made just the way I like it: with beurre and sucre. Cassonade if it's available. Luckily, this craving has a very simple solution in Washington, DC: There is a fabulous crêpe stand at Eastern Market that has just what you're looking for. With a beautiful forecast in store for Saturday, I made plans to head out in the early afternoon and treat myself to a snack, French style.

I tried making crêpes at home once, but it was a total disaster. I don't know if it was because I didn't follow the recipe correctly, or didn't have the appropriate pan, or didn't have the technique down, though I think it was a combination of the three. Add in the fact that I'm not French and it's no wonder I failed on my first try. Living in France taught me nothing if it didn't teach me that Frenchmen and women have an almost instinctual knowledge of crêpe making. They know the recipe by heart, they have the right tools (a flat pan, well greased), they know when and how to flip it so it doesn't tear or land on the floor. Basically, they're crêpe experts. I mean, making crêpes looks like it should be easy, kind of like making pancakes. But the truth is that it takes skills. Making crêpes is an art; an art I'd rather leave up to the French. And the guys at Eastern Market.

After wandering the market and finally making my way to the crêpe stand, I noticed that everyone in DC had the same idea I had. The line was crazy long! With the hottest sun of the year beating down on me, I didn't feel much like waiting, craving notwithstanding. Disappointment was ready to set in until my eyes caught a sign for a sorbet stand. For $4 I could get a heaping serving of cool and refreshing pineapple peach sorbet without waiting in line. It was a no-brainer. And while the sorbet was everything I hoped it would be (cool, refreshing, tasty), I have to admit that the craving is still hanging around. I might have to brush off my crêpe-flipping skills, after all.

Fish Tales

I was all geared up to do a post about April Fool's Day in France until I saw that Julie from WhyGo France beat me to it. Tant pis! She did a much better job of explaining Le Poisson d'Avril than I ever could, so everyone wins out in the end. You get to read about the history à la française of this prankster holiday, Julie gets a little more traffic to her site, and I get to relax instead of doing a bunch of research into why fish and the French go together on April 1st. Hint: it has nothing to do with breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

Au Cinéma

Movies are huge in France. There are important film festivals every year in Cannes and Deauville, French directors and movie stars are known all over the world, and theaters in France sell all-you-can-watch passes so that French audiences can see multiple showings every month. Films have long played an important role in French culture, and they still do today. But they're not just watching French movies in French cinémas Foreign films are popular too, with American films taking top billing. I've seen a lot of American movies in France, and one thing that always surprised me was the method (or lack thereof) for creating their titles. American movies in France don't necessarily retain their English names, and in some cases, they come out completely unrecognizable on the other side.

There seem to be three different fates for American movie titles in France. The first is that the original title is kept in English. For example, when I saw Sex and the City in Paris last spring, it was called Sex and the City. Nothing had been changed. The second option is that the original title is kept, but is translated into French. Lord of the Rings offers a good example of this; it becomes Le Seigneur des Anneaux. Chick flick 27 Dresses was showing while I was in Paris, and yep, they called it 27 Robes.

The third fate is the one that always catches me off guard. Occasionally, American movie titles are completely changed before being marketed to the French public. For example, the Steve Carell/Juliette Binoche film Dan in Real Life became Coup de Foudre à Rhode Island, which means Love at First Sight in Rhode Island in English. Quoi? That title has a totally different meaning than its original English version! I remember a few years back when Something's Gotta Give came out. I was in France, and it was called Tout Peut Arriver, which would be Anything Can Happen in English. So what's the deal? Why do some titles change and others don't? How do they decide which titles stay in English? And just who, exactly, is making all of these decisions?

Of course, this issue cuts both ways. Amélie - a French film that was hugely popular in the U.S. when it came out - isn't called Amélie in France. Its real title is Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulin, a nice little rhyme that, as you can probably guess, translates to The Fabulous Destiny of Amélie Poulin. Maybe that's the key: the French title has a sing-songy feel to it, but when it's changed to English it loses that meaning. As a result, there's no point in keeping the original title. It does seem like the American movie titles that are changed tend to be idiomatic or slang-ridden. And I suppose it doesn't really matter what the movie is called, as long as it's worth the good euros, or dollars, you paid to see it.


Photo credit: clasixart