The French Correction

As Britain drifts towards a café culture, our Continental cousins could have some important lessons for us. Richard Fox takes a look at what we can learn from the French approach

I am pleased to report that recent stories relating to the demise of the French hospitality industry are rather premature. After recent comments by Jacques Chirac, dissing our own fare offerings, perhaps I should be exclaiming disappointment at such a finding. Indeed, I have, in the past, been the first to gloat over the erroneous reports.

And yet, I find myself in one of Paris's many culinary heartlands, chuffed to bits that I'm enjoying quality offerings from waistcoated waiters, whose stereotyped surliness appears to have evaporated as fast as the traditional wintry mist.

The bottom line is: this place just oozes style. Not in that more formal, Italian "Guccified" fashion; but a more Bohemian, Gaulloise-toting, femmes-fatale kind of way - far more sexy if you ask me.

Now, I don't want you to think that I've been in any way swayed by the fact that, from the precarious safety of my roadside seat, I've fallen in love every 30 seconds with yet another Juliette Binoche lookalike; or been swayed by the warm sun in the middle of winter. It's just that, if the St Germain des Pres quarter of Paris rocks my boat any more, I shall go quite in-seine.

What does it mean for British bars?

All very well, you may say - if you're French, or an Englishman in Paris. But how is this relevant to our own, proud-to-be-British, pub scene?

Well, for a start, that traditional Britishness has rightly or wrongly become more diluted in the last 20 years: Espresso machines in most high-street bars, wines to rival Oddbins, bottled beers from around the world, and a world market of all-day food. And perhaps this Continental feel has become so generic that it's time to take a new, fresh look at the real Continental bar scene. Clearly, another wine by the glass is no longer enough to send shivers down the spines of the competition. Surely, a little international roaming in search of inspiration is no bad thing.

Firstly, and most strikingly, there's the absence of music, and, perhaps not coincidentally, the proximity of the tables to each other. The combination of these two factors not only creates a more sociable environment, it makes it wholly unavoidable. But just to make sure any lingering loners are well and truly included, the tables are tiny.

These combined elements have quite a startling effect on the dynamics of the typical Paris bar. Firstly, there's no room on the tables for empty glasses, and overflowing ashtrays are just unacceptable. Consequently, the floor activity is intense - a constant movement of eagle-eyed staff, collecting, emptying, wiping, and most importantly: serving.

While the tight table arrangements make anything more than perfunctory loo visits, an exercise in escapology, efficient table service renders any further movement completely unnecessary. Table service is something I have always passionately advocated - and practised back in my publican days. It makes both customer service and economic sense. I know from bitter experience as a punter how easily led I can be, and any suggestion that gives me permission to have just one more is seized upon with the vigour of the limpet clinging to the rock.

The drinks trade is a sales business

Obviously, we don't want to upset the powers that be at the Portman Group, or give further fuel to binge-culture sensationalism, but pubs are in the sales business. And just as there is, quite rightly, a need to observe both legal and moral codes of conduct, selling is as fundamental to the licensed trade as it is to the timeshare business. And bear in mind, that just because the punter is in the pub, it doesn't mean the sale is complete. In other words, don't wait to be asked before offering something further.

Clearly there are a whole load of practical issues to be addressed if table service is to be embraced as core pub policy. Not least being cash handling. However, individual purse-held floats, and a clear dispense policy can make for a secure and efficient service. After all, if it's practised so widely and successfully on the Continent, then there are solutions to the problems.

On the atmospheric front, the combination of tiny, packed-in tables, table service and close-proximity seating create a buzz that exceeds anything that can ordinarily be created by music. It's a cacophony of conversation - even when the establishment is relatively quiet.

As we move still further away from rapid pint consumption in this country, and further into quality over quantity - think speciality beers, micro-breweries, quality wines, and a more family-friendly environment - communication aids will become increasingly relevant.

On the food front, the Paris bar menus made interesting, if not quick reading. Firstly, they tended to be limited to no more than five or six items. And each item was undoubtedly what I would call drinking food: minute steak with French fries (naturally); croque monsieur; omelette and salad. Nothing groundbreaking here, except that each dish was perfectly executed. Let's face it, a few dishes done exceedingly well is better than something that reads like a Chinese menu, but is impossible to prep and serve effectively and efficiently.

Preserving British pub identity

Obviously, what works in one culture does not necessarily translate into another. And preserving our own British pub identity is as fundamental to our way of life as Match of the Day (well, it is to mine). But there is never any harm in exploring further afield for inspiration when we can't see the wood for the trees.

A good friend of mine is in the bag design business. She makes regular visits - at great company expense - to Japan. Such visits are an essential part of the fashion business, giving ideas and inspiration when our own surroundings are too familiar to generate original or innovative thought. We're not talking either about wholesale replication of ideas. It maybe that an image, or method, triggers a lateral thought far removed from the original observation. Au revoir, Paris - I'm off for a pint of best... with a plate of Welsh rarebit and mussels... brought to my table on a silver platter.