Reading the Package

Reading the Package / En lisant l’emballage

Just two countries in the entire world have English and French as their only official languages: Cameroon and Canada.

For us Canadians, this means that packaged products are required by federal law to be labeled in English and French. This regulation was designed to ease commerce between English- and French-speaking populations. But it’s had an extraordinarily positive side-effect: every pantry, dining table, and trip to the grocery store is an opportunity for informal language acquisition.

Food packaging is a surprisingly ideal way to pick up new vocabulary. Even if you don’t understand the French, the English subtitles are right there to help you along. And once you figure out what the French means, your learning experience is paired with a concrete object and a sensory experience (yum), which act as mnemonics, helping you remember the new word. And unless you can polish off a box of Lucky Charms in one sitting (which is entirely possible for me), you’ll have the opportunity to reread that box on several, separate occasions, which further ingrains the new word in your brain.

Learning another language gives us insight into the strengths and shortcomings of our own language, it gives us new ways of seeing the world around us, and it even reveals something of our history. At the very least, it’s something to entertain us over breakfast.

Below is a growing collection of packages that helped me expand my French vocabulary while offering insights beyond my dining table. The images are titled in English, French, and the literal translation from French into English.

Visitors to Canada are often surprised to find out that not everyone here speaks French. But second language acquisition is a life-long process that all literate Canadians engage in when we read packaging. For my fellow Canadians who don’t consider themselves bilingual, perhaps the following images will convince you otherwise. At least, I hope they will inspire you to spend more time reading the package. (Click here for my literature review on Second Language Learning and Bilingual Environmental Print. Comments welcome!)

Vinegar / vinaigre
(sour wine)

Vinegar is such a ubiquitous ingredient, it’s surprising how often its etymology goes unnoticed. The French word “vinaigre” (notice the slight variation in spelling) is a compound word composed of “vin” and “aigre”. “Vin” is French for “wine” and “aigre” means “sour”. Vinegar is what you get when your wine has been sitting in the cellar for too long.

Sunflower / tournesol
(turns to sun)

The word “sunflower” beautifully describes this plant’s circular face and its yellow ray-like petals that resemble the sun. And the French word “tournesol” is equally beautiful. "Tournesol" comes from the verb "tourner", which means “to turn” and "sol" which means “sun”. While you won’t see sunflowers turning to the sun in real-time (they turn rather slowly), the name "tournesol" brings this plant's hidden movement to the forefront.

Flaxseed / graines de lin
(seeds of lin)

What do flaxseed and bedsheets have in common? Bilingual food labels hint at the answer. The French “graines de lin” literally translates as “seeds of lin”, which is short for the latin Linum usitatissimum, a plant which produces both the fibres used to make linen and the seeds used to make fancy yogourt parfaits. Once again, a lesson in plant biology is sitting in the kitchen cupboard (though linseed oil should be refrigerated!)

Cauliflower/chou-fleur
(cabbage flower)

The French word for "cauliflower"—“chou-fleur”, which literally means "cabbage flower"—reveals this vegetable’s genetic lineage. Cabbage and cauliflower are both the same species, Brassica oleracea. The English name also hints at the plant’s biology if you know a bit of Latin: the Latin “caulis” means "cabbage".

Dandelion / pissenlit
(piss in bed)

The French word for "dandelion" is hard to forget once you know what it means. This word’s etymology reveals that is was thought to be a diuretic (something that makes you have to pee). “En” translates as “in”. And “lit” means “bed”. Put that together and I’m sure you can figure out the rest.

Bouillon / bouillon
(came from boiling)

The word “bouillon” is spelled the same in English and French. It’s a borrowed word, meaning we adopted this French word into English (which is common for culinary terms: e.g., sauté, hors d'oeuvre, sous-vide). "Bouillon" comes from the French verb “bouillir” which means “to boil”. And the suffix “-on” indicates the object's origin; this thing came from boiling.

Ham / jambon
(stuff from the leg)

“Honey roasted pig leg meat” sound less appetizing than “honey roasted ham”. Though, “ham” is just an elegant way of saying “pig-leg-meat”. The English “ham” comes from the French word for “leg”, “jambe”. Say it aloud—“jambe”—and you can almost hear the word “ham”. Jambe, ham, jambe, ham. The suffix “-on” simply means “comes from”. So “jambon” just means stuff that comes from the leg.

Most grocery stores sell sterile packages of neatly sliced ham alongside similar packages of turkey and roast beef. Knowing the French word for ham makes buying packaged meat a slightly less alienating experience, bringing you a little closer to the animal that’s about to become a delicious sandwich.

Yeast / levure
(that which will cause to rise)

The French word for yeast, “levure”, is by far the better name for the fungus that levens our bread because it invokes mystery and magic. “Levure” comes from the French verb “lever” which means “to rise”. The suffix “-ure” describes the resultant state produced by the rising action. In English, we just have "leavening agent", which lacks the simplicity and alchemical connotations of “levure”. The English word also falls short of the French version because it's a blanket term that refers not only to yeast but to chemical raising agents as well (e.g. baking soda).

Potatoe / pomme de terre
(apple from the earth)

In French, a potato is called "pomme de terre", which translates as "apple from the earth". The French term elevates the potato, recognizing its value by likening it to a sweet and delicious fruit—a fruit from the earth.

Pomegranate / grenade
(grenade)

The French word for pomegranate, “grenade”, hints at this fruit’s resemblance to the hand grenade. Its hard, roundish shell is stuffed with hundreds of tiny beads that explode with flavour in your mouth.

But the pomegranate is not named after the grenade—the grenade is named after the fruit! The word “pomegranate” is a combination of "pomme", which means "apple", and "grenade", which is related to the word "grain", which means “seed”. It is not pomegranates that resemble grenades; rather, it is grenades that resemble pomegranates because they are filled with hundreds of tiny pellets.

Thousand Island / mille-îles
(thousand islands)

The origins of Thousand Island salad dressing are highly disputed. But what is indisputable (or perhaps less disputable) is that the French name for the dressing, “mille-îles” ("mille" means "thousand" and "îles" means "isles" or "islands") rolls off the tongue in a way that evokes the smooth and creamy texture of the salad dressing itself. While the English name for this dressing may spark disagreement, the French name sparks the appetite.

Stir-fry / sauté
(jumped)

The French word for stir-fry, "sauté" (pronounced [sew-tay] and not [saw-tay]), is the past tense of the French verb "sauter", which means "to jump". Put some vegetables in a hot pan, move the pan in such a way that the vegetables jump around, and you have yourself a stir-fry, a sauté. Note that "sauté" is not be confused with "satay" (pronounced [sah-tay]), which is an Indonesian dish.

Cotton Candy / barbe à papa
(papa’s beard)

While the term "cotton candy" likens this colourful, billowing treat to the fluffy, airy, pull-apart texture of cotton, the French term, "barbe à papa" or "papa’s beard", conjures a different, perhaps equally delightful image: a soft, wispy, conical beard.

Egg-nog / lait de poule
(chicken milk)

Do chickens produce milk? No. They do not. There is cow milk, goat milk and buffalo milk. But there is no chicken milk just as surely as there is no lizard milk and no fish milk. Milk comes from mammals, and chickens are birds.

One might reason that although chicken milk isn’t, scientifically speaking, milk, it is still milk in the sense that it’s a creamy beverage, much like almond milk, oat milk and rice milk. But by that logic, just as almond milk is made of almonds wouldn’t chicken milk be made of...chickens? If you agree that eggs are sort of like unhatched chickens, then maybe egg nog is chicken milk after all.

Herbal Tea / tisane
(tisane)

Does mint tea have caffeine? The English word "tea" ambiguously refers to a beverage that is caffeinated and a beverage that is caffeine-free. Mistaking either one for the other can have disastrous consequences. In French, this confusion doesn't arise because there is one word for caffeinated tea "thé" and a different word for non-caffeinated tea, "tisane". English also has the word "tisane" for referring to a steeped non-caffeinated herbal beverage, yet it isn’t widely used in Canada. The term “herbal tea” is commonly used to refer to a caffeine-free tea, but since "herbal tea" still mentions "tea", a careful sipper will always have to clarify whether the herbal tea contains caffeine.

Shortbread / sablé
(sandy)

Shortbread gets its crumbly texture by mixing cool butter with flour. The fat coats the flour particles, preventing them from forming the long chains of gluten that give, say, bread its chewy and elastic texture. The fat literally shortens the gluten—hence the term “shortbread”.

If you’ve ever made shortbread, you would have noticed that the floury, buttery mixture looks and feels almost sandy. Even the final cookie has a pleasantly crumbly and grainy mouthfeel that resembles sand (if sand wasn’t just about the most horrendous thing you could put into your mouth).

This is why the French word for shortbread literally translates as ‘a sandy’--un sablé. This cookie’s is also named after it’s place of origin, Sablé-sur-Sarthe.

Cinnamon / cannelle
(little cane)

The French word for cinnamon, "cannelle", literally translates as "little cane". The English "cane" and the French "canne" [kan] refer to the woody, hollowish stem of various plants such as bamboo, sugar cane, and certain grasses like reeds. (The words "canal" and "channel" also get their meaning from the functional aspect of these tubular, hollow stems). The '-elle' suffix is a diminutive, in other words, it indicates a smaller version of the root word; an organelle is a little organ and a rondelle is a little round thing.

Interestingly, "cannelle" is a misnomer since cinnamon doesn't come from the stem of a plant, rather, it comes from the bark of trees. Though this bark, when dried, curls into itself to form what resembles the hollow, tubular structure of cane.

Hazelnut / noisette
(little nut)

The French word for hazelnut, "noisette", comes from "noix", which means "nut", and the diminutive suffix "-ette", which begets a smaller version of the root word; a baguette is a little stick, a cigarette is a little cigar, and a pipette is a little pipe.

While the word "hazelnut" highlights this nut's colour after it has been perfectly roasted (which you should absolutely do since raw hazelnuts are not delicious at all!), the French word is so generalized that it's almost laughable. Which nut isn't small? And why do hazelnuts, rather than almonds or pistachios, deserve the title "little nut"?

But before you chuckle at the French language, consider pecans. The English word "pecan" comes from the [Algonquin] word meaning any nut that needs to be cracked open with a stone. So why do we call pecans ‘pecans’ when walnuts, almonds—and even hazelnuts—are pecans too?

Turkey / dindon
(from India)

Children are quick to notice that the country Türkiye (formerly spelled, 'Turkey') shares its name with a main course. But the country was not named after the bird; the bird was named after the country.

Turkeys were imported to Europe from the Türkish Empire, and, for whatever reason, took on the name of its place of export. This phenomenon of foods taking on the name of their place of orgin is not uncommon. Jalapeños, sherry and hamburgers are just some examples of foods that are eponyms, foods named after places.

But turkeys did not actually come from Türkiye! The French word for turkey is "dinde" (femenin) or "dindon" (masculin) which is a mashing together of the French "de", which means "from" and "Inde" which means 'India'.

But turkeys did not come from India either. Spanish Conquistadors brought the bird from (what is now) Mexico to Europe. These colonizers mistakenly believed that Mexico was the Indies, and so they brought home a bird that they believed they had bagged in India.

Petite Peas / Petits pois
(untranslatable)

Most French adjectives have a “male” and a “female” version. A small boy is “petit” and a small girl is “petite” (modern conventions have arisen for a non-binary child, “petit.e”).

Most French nouns are gendered too, so any adjective you use to describe that noun needs to agree with that noun's gender. You would say a “petit restaurant” but a “petite croissante”. Furthermore, if a noun is singular, you need to use the singular version of the adjective, and if the noun is plural you need to the plural version of the adjective. If you have one pastry it’s a “petite croissante”, but if you have several they are “petites croissantes”.

English speakers have borrowed words like “petite” but not “petit”. So we would say in English—not incorrectly—that a small boy is “petite” or that peas are “petite”. But this food label shows that the French spelling is “petits pois” (since “pois” are masculine and plural).

To suggest we import French gender and number conventions into English would be awkward and pretentious. It makes perfect sense in English to describe a boy as petite. But if you’re wanting to learn French, noticing words' gender and number on packaging, and their associated spellings, makes for excellent practice!

Cookie / biscuit
(twice-baked)

In English we use “cookie” and “biscuit” loosely to refer to a broad range of baked goods. But etymologically speaking, these two words describe two different species of confection.

"Cookie” comes to us from the Dutch “koekje”, which literally means “little cake” (“koek-” means “cake” and “-je” is a diminutive). This makes sense as some cookie recipes describe the final product as "cakey".

Biscuits are a very different type of baked item. “Biscuit” comes from the French “bi-” which means “twice” and “cuit” which means “baked”. Etymologically speaking, biscuits are confectionaries that are made by forming the dough into a large loaf, baking it lightly, cutting it into slices, and then baking those slices for a second time.

Household Products

Paper Towel / essuie-tout
(wipes up all)

The French word for “paper-towel” does a far better job at describing this kitchen-marvel's seemingly endless applications. “Essuie” comes from the French verb “essuyer” which means “to wipe up”, “wipe away”, or “to dry something” as you would with a towel. And “tout” simply means “all”.

While the English word merely describes this object's material composition—which isn't too important practically speaking—the French captures the pragmatic nature of paper towel: this stuff can be used to wipe up all things.

Goldfish / poisson rouge
(redfish)

Carassius auratus, the archetypal pet fish, exists in two parallel universes. In the English-speaking universe, this fish is known as “goldfish”. However, in the French-speaking universe, this fish is known as “poisson rouge”, which literally translates as “redfish”.

There is a trivial humour in the fact that humanity is split along linguistic lines into two camps; one that believes the fish is gold, and another that believes the fish is red. It’s comical to imagine two houses, side-by-side in some bilingual place in Canada, where one family has a pet goldfish and the other family has a pet redfish—and both pets look identical!

Sidewalk chalk / craie pour trottoir
(chalk for trotting place)

Sidewalks make cities safer, healthier and more livable. Yet the word “sidewalk” relegates this pedestrian zone to a secondary role; it is to the side of the main attraction—the road. But sidewalks are much more than walking places that are next to roads, or so they should be.

The French word for sidewalk, “trottoir”, which literally translates as “place for trotting”, brings into relief the car-centric assumptions implied by the word “sidewalk”. Trottoir is a name for a place that is worthy in and of itself, a place that is not automatically less important than the road and the automobile. Would our cities be better if we started using the term “walkways”? Should we take a lesson from French?

Petroleum Jelly / gelée de pétrole
(jelly that comes from petrol)

The English and French generic names for Vaseline are not all that different: “petroleum jelly” and “gelée de pétrole”. Yet the difference is enough to shed new light on what this stuff is made of. “Gelée de pétrole” may tip you off that this clear, odourless, household staple comes from petrol. More specifically, it's a by-product from crude oil production.

Brand Name Products vs. Private Label Products

Trademarked names, like “Oreo” and “Cheeze Whiz”, are identical in English and French. But private label versions of these products cannot use the trademarked name, so these packages have different product names in English and French. Product designers stretch the limits of language to come up with names that signal this product is just another version of the brand name product. However, all the linguistic devices used to create catchy names—such as alliteration, consonance and play on words—often don’t translate well across linguistic lines. As a result, knock-off products reveal how language is sometimes not translatable and efforts to do so can be a great source of entertainment.

cheese-tastic! / fromidable!
(untranslatable)

“cheese-tastic!” sounds childish and playful and therefore approximates "Cheez Whiz". But there is no way to capture this sentiment with the French words for “cheese” (“fromage”) and “fantastic” (“fantastique”). So some product developer created an entirely different childish and playful name: “fromidable!”, which is a portmanteau (a mixture of two words) of “formidable” (“excellent”) and “fromage” (“cheese”).