This is part of a series on French idiomatic expressions that relate to food. Read the introductory Edible Idiom post, and browse the list of French idioms featured so far.

This week’s expression is, “Tomber comme un cheveu sur la soupe.”

The literal translation is, “falling like a hair* on soup,” and it means that something or someone appears at an inappropriate or incongruous moment, and is thus completely out of place. (The idiom can also be formed with the verbs arriver, to arrive, or venir, to come, instead of tomber, to fall.)

Interestingly enough, in the context of this expression, the hair found in a bowl of soup causes no disgust. It is merely seen as an anomaly, a thing of no value or consequence that diverts one’s attention from what’s really important: the soup.

Example: “Je n’ai vraiment pas aimé la fin : la scène avec les extraterrestres tombe comme un cheveu sur la soupe.” “I really didn’t like the ending: the scene with the aliens falls like a hair on soup.”

Listen to the idiom and example read aloud:

Comme un cheveu sur la soupe is also the title of a 1957 movie with Louis de Funès (but no aliens).

* In French, there are two words for hair, depending on where it grows: un cheveu is the hair that grows on the head, whereas un poil is the hair that grows on the body. In both cases, the terms refer to an individual hair; if you were to compliment someone on his hair, you would use the plural, les cheveux.

A few weeks ago, I received an email from a reader named Pamela, who said she was working her way through the C&Z archives — I am so heartened when people do that — and had noticed, in this older-than-salt post, a reference to the weeknight lasagna our friend Zoe made for us when we visited her in London. Did I ever end up sharing that recipe? Pamela asked.

The short answer is: no. The long answer is: I’ve thought about Zoe’s lasagna on a regular basis since then, but somehow the opportunity to reproduce it failed to arise. Such is the fate, I’m ashamed to admit, of 99% of the recipes I collect, because I seldom cook from recipes at all, and because I collect a staggering volume of them anyway.

From the oven emerged a well-balanced, flavorful lasagna, satisfying but not too rich, which fed a tableful of appreciative friends.

But Pamela’s note was the nudge I needed: I opened the drawer in which I keep my old notebooks, and found the one that had accompanied me to London. I flipped through the pages, read the notes I’d jotted down according to Zoe’s explanations, and rolled my eyes: my scribblings had probably made sense at the time, but five years later they had become rather dim, and in particular, I had included no ingredient measurement whatsoever.

Still, the overall process was documented, and lasagna-making is no exact science after all, so I decided to wing it. What was the worst that could happen? And instead, the best did: from the oven emerged a well-balanced, flavorful lasagna, satisfying but not too rich, which fed a table of appreciative friends.

So if, like me, you tend to overlook the most evidently pleasing dishes in your pile of recipes, I can only encourage you to stop, and make this one.

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This is part of a series on French idiomatic expressions that relate to food. Read the introductory Edible Idiom post, and browse the list of French idioms featured so far.

This week’s expression is, “Rouler quelqu’un dans la farine.”

Literally translated as, “rolling someone in flour,” it means duping someone, playing a trick on him, or using one’s wits and lies to take advantage of someone who’s a little naive, or not quite as smart as one is.

According to these sources, the expression dates back to the early nineteenth century. Rouler quelqu’un (literally, rouler = to roll) means cheating or swindling somebody, and la farine (flour) symbolizes lies, or misleading arguments, perhaps in relation to the fact that actors then used it as stage makeup. It also adds a notion of ridicule: the gullible victim is somehow responsible for letting himself be fooled so easily.

Example: “A chaque fois, elle lui promettait que ça ne se reproduirait plus, mais tout le monde voyait bien qu’elle le roulait dans la farine.” “She kept promising it wouldn’t happen again, but everyone could see she was rolling him in flour.”

Listen to the idiom and example read aloud:

Where’s the online scratch ‘n sniff when you need it?

Since such technology is not yet available to us (sheesh!), we’ll just have to rely on our imagination and invoke, in our mind’s nose, the irresistibly sweet, floral, candy-like scent that quince, the most gnarled and unprepossessing subject of the fruit kingdom, emits.

In fact, if you were to cook quinces right away upon purchasing them, I would call you crazy: what you should do instead is keep them for a few days on a platter somewhere, in your kitchen or living room, where they’ll act as a natural home fragrance.

If you were to cook quinces right away upon purchasing them, I would call you crazy: what you should do instead is keep them for a few days on a platter somewhere, in your kitchen or living room, where they’ll act as a natural home fragrance.

When you’re done near-fainting with felicity every time you take a whiff, it’s time to poach them and enjoy the second surprise they have in store: the flesh of quince, which doesn’t look like much and tastes horrible when raw, takes on a ravishing, ruby pink shade* and a most palatable flavor when cooked.

Because quince has a high pectin content, quince paste (or dulce de membrillo, or jam, or jelly) is the most common use for it, but these preparations are usually too sweet for my taste, and I prefer my quinces as a compote, poached in a not-too-sweet syrup**.

After a few hours of simmering — yes, it takes that long — the wedges become soft, with a pleasantly grainy textural veil, and taste like a cross between an excellent apple and an even better pear, with underlying notes of honey and spice.

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