French Forego Organic Labels
brandchannel.com - August 28, 2006
Confronted with the issue, many French consumers seem to be steering away from the organic label (commonly known as “bio†from agriculture biologique) and are creating some unlikely stars in closely related markets.
Trusting tradition and helped by the small business owners who run their favorite food and wine shops and stalls, many French consumers are simply siding with their taste buds. What could be called “near-organic” wines and vegetables are two sectors that are enjoying success without getting dragged down in bio’s red tape and confusion.
“Organic? What’s that?” asks Cherif Bourbit, who runs the Parisian wine and cheese bar Fil ‘O’ Fromage, and had taken a recent field trip to America to see the organic aisles at Wal-Mart.
Asked if the agriculture biologique label has become the big mess he seems to be implying, he smirks: “You’re not wrong.”
Bourbit’s biggest-selling wines are a group of what he simply calls “natural production” wines—not strictly organic, but not far from it. Those, along with some that do comply with French organic standards, and the ultra-strict (and some say slightly loopy) biodynamic label, make up an estimated 60 percent of his wine sales.
“Something that’s 100 percent organic really doesn’t exist,” he says. “Even if your soil is pure, your neighbors’ won’t be, and it’s clear as day that eventually yours will be affected.”
It sounds far-fetched until I remember that it’s almost word for word what a Spanish organic winemaker told me about a year ago, while pointing to a neighboring non-organic producer a valley away.
Wine or otherwise, Bourbit applauds those who are making the effort to be more natural. “You eat supermarket cheese and nothing happens,” he says, arms flailing in exasperation as he struggles for an analogy between his high-quality “natural production†products and the run-of-the-mill stuff from the grocery store. “It’s like the difference between getting the girl of your dreams and a blow-up doll.â€
Though finding a good near-organic wine on your own makes you feel like a true connoisseur, buying the wines Bourbit favors tends to be a crapshoot for most consumers.
Enter the power of the small business. What Bourbit and his compatriots attempt to do is make sure the odds are tipped in the consumers’ favor. The key to success for Bourbit to sell his natural production wines boils down to being able to educate his customers.
“If the producers don’t get it right, it’s fatale,” he says. “They’re very fragile wines…. You can end up with some disgusting stuff. You’ve got to have the winemaking process down from A to Z.”
He’s not kidding. It’s the kind of stuff that once you’ve been stung, makes you want to forever write it off in favor of a safer bet. There is some seriously bad plonk out there being sold by winemakers who are still getting the natural production kinks out of their systems.
“There’s a natural aspect that often gets killed by a technical wine,” he says, explaining why these wines are worth the risk. “With a natural production wine, you taste the grape and the fruit. It’s like you’re eating the fruit in nature.â€
“It’s not killed by chemicals,” he concludes. “When it’s done right, it’s the best.”
The frustration with the ability to find good organic has also made a star out of farmer Joel Thiebault; his and Bourbit’s words often seem like they could have come out of each others’ mouths.
“Bio is too limiting for what we wanted to do,” says Thiebault.
Though quality tends to be excellent at the small handful of Paris’ organic food markets, they have a reputation for attracting more movie stars, celebrity wannabes and people who have money to burn than foodies. For the most part, these organic markets haven’t caught on with the throngs who flock to the city’s myriad open-air markets, which already represent a high level of quality.
Thiebault found his niche between the two, however, striving for the best-possible tasting produce while eschewing the confusion of bio certification.
His efforts paid off in spades. Thiebault and his workers farm land outside of Paris and sell goods in two Parisian markets. He’s also become a go-to guy for star chefs in the City of Light looking for the best local produce.
Like his customers, Thiebault doesn’t see the added advantage of going organic. “The costs are enormous…. People present it like the be-all, end-all, but there are huge problems,” he observes. “A good organic carrot has to cost more than 25 percent more than a non-organic one.”
“Plus,” he adds, “You can’t be 100 percent organic. It’s better to find a middle ground.”
Finding this middle ground didn’t happen overnight. In the thirty-odd years he’s been farming and selling vegetables, there’s certainly been an evolution to what he does. “For my first fifteen years in business, I worked to make the most products and sell the most,” but that changed when the gourmand in him got frustrated.
It seems that Thiebault hit a sort of mental wall with the tomatoes that were selling on the French market. “You can stick them in the fridge for three weeks and they don’t get better,†he complains. “Eventually, you can play five sets of tennis with them.”
The time was ripe for a change and Thiebault chose quality. “We liked getting compliments [on our best products] so we reworked how we worked.”
Now, like Bourbit, most of Thiebault’s sales success comes from his ability to communicate the attributes of his produce to his customers. “Little by little, we were able to explain our product quality to our customers.”
“Our job is to communicate to the client that there are ephemeral moments we’ve got to seize,” he concludes. “That’s what we’re good at.”
“Now, people come up and put their empty bags in front of us and say, ‘What am I making this week?’ ”
Joe Ray is a freelance writer living in Europe. He can be contacted via his website,http://www.joe-ray.com” title=” joe-ray.com”> joe-ray.com.
