French cafes sip slowly in fast-gulp culture


The number of traditional Parisian cafes has decreased considerably in the past century. Here, a cup of espresso at the famed Deux Magots cafe in the Latin Quarter

February 23, 2001
Web posted at: 12:56 p.m. EST (1756 GMT)

In this story:

Declining numbers

'Watching life'

A place to sit, talk

Competition, difficult laws

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By Jenna Milly
CNN.com Writer

PARIS, France (CNN) -- An elderly man sits alone facing the street as he smokes a cigarette and drinks espresso in a cafe, the afternoon sun casting shadows across Paris' Left Bank. The old fellow, like so many others here, pauses to watch the human parade in France's capital.

But one day he may lose his street-side seat and view of the promenade. The cafes of Paris, once part of the social and political fabric of this city, are slowly becoming fewer in number.

Paris is famous for many monuments, cathedrals and beautiful parks, but if there is one symbol that represents French culture, society and its joie de vivre, it is the city's cafes.

Historically, Parisian cafes have been the meeting grounds for just about anyone who had an opinion to voice. Revolutionaries, philosophers, writers and thinkers have expressed opinions, expounded at length and exasperated their critics in the city's cafes. Some may even have expired inside their smoky interiors.

"The cafe," says Catherine Mathivat, joint director of a renowned Left Bank establishment where Ernest Hemingway and others drank, "is a way of life."

A way of life that has changed in the past 100 years.

Declining numbers

At the beginning of the 20th century, 600,000 cafes and bars throughout France served the thirsty and fed the hungry, according to figures compiled by the Union of Trade Workers and Hotel Industries, which represents 90 percent of the nation's cafes. Today fewer than 50,000 exist nationwide, and the number continues to drop.


This cafe has been closed for months. The sign says "Closed -- changing ownership," but the renovation has yet to start

Paris, still the king of cafes, had more than 1,700 establishments in 1999, says the Paris Chamber of Commerce, whose data shows a gradual drop in numbers over the years.

Many factors have contributed to the decline, but some observers think the greatest cause may be a subtle change in the French lifestyle: Cafes haven't kept up with it. Caught in the swift-flowing era of cell phones and fast food, the institution of the French cafe stands motionless in time, struggling to hold its place in society.

"With the changes in the way people live today, the French don't have as much time as they used to," says Jean-Pierre Piriou, a professor who teaches a class on French cultural studies at the University of Georgia. "The pace of life is faster."

New technologies such as cell phones and the Internet may be diverting potential patrons' attention from sitting and spending long periods of time in cafes, Piriou thinks.

"It used to be normal for people to stop in a cafe after work and meet a few a friends and have a drink," he says. "But that's not the way people live anymore."

Yet cafes still have their appeal, says Piriou, himself a fan of their ambience and slower pace.

"You can go to a small place and eat, reasonably and rapidly, a main dish with French fries, a half-bottle of wine and a cup of coffee," he says.

You also get a chance to see a distinctly French lifestyle, he adds.

"Go to a cafe on the St. Germain if you want to see a French politician," he says. "This is very much a part of the culture."

And it is not only a culture that serves up drinks for French senators. Cafe regulars can be anyone from lawyers and doctors to factory workers. They come to discuss politics, to play games, to enjoy one another's company -- or to just sit and read.

'Watching life'

A French cafe serves more than just espressos and cappuccinos. Most feature a full bar, with beer on tap and light food available. No matter the time of day, a cafe has something to drink.


Three meters wide, Le Petit Klaada is just big enough for a few customers, all of whom the owner greets with a handshake. From left, a customer and co-owners Achir Mohammed and Achir Rabah

"You want to be here for your pleasure, watching life," says Mathivat, whose Deux Magots cafe derives its name from twin statues that command the center of its bar. The cafe on the Boulevard St. Germain gets its fame from a client list that, in addition to Hemingway, has included Jean-Paul Sartre, Pablo Picasso, Gertrude Stein and others.

"You come and sit and you do things, like read, or write postcards," she says, pointing out the regulars who dot her cafe. "Have you ever seen someone writing a postcard at McDonald's? Traditional cafes inspire people more than fast food does."

Still, Mathivat is realistic; she knows cafes are in trouble and many of her fellow proprietors are going out of business. Yet she is determined to do her part to maintain the city's reputation as the home of the leisurely cup of coffee, the wine savored at street side.

This can happen, she says, if people slow down and re-educate their senses.

"We don't know what we are eating or what we are doing anymore," Mathivat says, gesturing just beyond her cafe, where people bustle past the establishment's green awnings and brass table tops. "People need to spend time in this life. How will it be different if you are just 20 or 30 minutes later than you wanted to be?"

A place to sit, talk

Most French cafes are not so renowned as Mathivat's, and so they struggle quietly.


Champagne chills at The Dome, an ex-haunt of Lenin, Trotsky and other revolutionaries before it was refurbished in the 1920s

A little farther south from the River Seine, away from the traffic and grand promenade of St. Germain, is Au Petit Klaada, a narrow neighborhood bar on a street two blocks long. Klaada translates loosely as "we are here."

Petit is self-explanatory. The cafe, which opened 17 years ago, has a bar that seats three, with four small tables crowding the sidewalk out front and room for less than 10 diners in a cramped space in the rear.

Achir Rabah works in his bar 15 hours daily except Sundays. His partner and cousin, Achir Mohammed, and a cook round out the cafe's three-person staff.

"I feel it is important to my customers, some of whom I even consider more than just customers, but as friends, to be here every day," Rabah says as he mixes a glass of pastis, the popular French drink made from anis, a clear liqueur tasting of licorice. "They are here to talk and I am here to talk to them, too. It is very important to have this contact with people."

As he places the glass on the counter, a customer nods in agreement.

Such smaller, less-glamorous bars far from tourists' byways often are the first to close -- victims not just of fast-food restaurants and even faster-paced lifestyles, but also of the growing number of sandwich shops and street vendors crowding the city.

"Even the butchers and pastry-shop owners sell sandwiches," Rabah says.

Competition, difficult laws

The proof is nearly everywhere. On the Left Bank near the Deux Magots, for example, the streets are lined with a range of lunch options -- Greek sandwich shops, Chinese buffet counters, French creperie stands.


Another popular fast food choice in Paris is the Quick Hamburger Restaurant, seen here in a prime location on the Champs-Elysees

Almost none of these places serves alcohol with the food, underscoring an economic reality: Licenses to sell food only, without alcoholic beverages, are free. Permits to sell liquor, beer and wine are not.

As part of a decades-long campaign against alcoholism, the government no longer issues new licenses to sell a full range of spirits -- beer, aperitifs, hard liquor -- typically found in traditional cafes. A proprietor wanting to open a full-service bar must buy an old license, and if a bar or cafe goes out of business, the government holds its alcohol license for three years before reissuing it.

A prospective cafe owner either has to know a former cafe owner who's recently closed shop, or have deep pockets to buy one from the government.

Either requirement hurts the cafe industry, says Jean Biron, a cafe owner and vice president of the trade union representing cafes.

The street-side establishments, says Biron, whose union has lobbied lawmakers on behalf of cafes, are an indelible part of French life.

Twenty-million people, one third of the country's population, enter cafes every day in France, Biron says.

"One cafe may open at 5:45 in the morning just because it's next to a train station," he says, "and people want some coffee before they ride into town."

Biron acknowledges that cafes have seen better days, but insists that their numbers aren't dwindling as rapidly as before. He remains upbeat about their future.

Maybe that's because they loom large in his past.

Sitting in his cafe on the outskirts of Paris, Biron recalls his hometown, a village in France's central Auvergne region.

"There were once seven cafes there," he says. "But now there is only one, and it's in a hotel. That cafe will never close down. It is the life of the city."

A way of life that, here, where the elite and humble have shared space at the city's cafes, hangs on.