Edition: U.S. / Global


Published: April 10, 1988

IMAGINE, IF YOU WILL, THIS little scene: You're at home, relaxed in front of the television screen. The doorbell rings. The caller is a polltaker. He asks the usual stuff about political party affiliation and your preference among the candidates. Then he says, ''May I ask you what is your favorite wine?''

Far-fetched? In the United States, perhaps, but in France, that's exactly what happened here recently. France is also having a Presidential election this year, so Gault Millau, a well-known food and wine magazine, engaged the French Institute of Political Opinion (I.F.O.P.), a prominent polling organization, to determine what French men and women of different political persuasions prefer to eat and drink.

The political writers have been complaining that the principal candidates - President Francois Mitterrand, Prime Minister Jacques Chirac and former Prime Minister Raymond Barre - differ hardly at all on the main issues. Well, neither do their followers when it comes to some of the things they eat and drink.

Bordeaux wine, for example, was the first preference of every group, from the supporters of Andre Lajoinie, the Communist candidate, to the right-wing followers of Jean-Marie Le Pen, candidate of the xenophobic National Front. Equally, gigot d'agneau (leg of lamb) was the runaway favorite of Frenchmen of every political stripe. With one exception: the supporters of Francois Leotard, currently Minister of Culture. They voted for filet of sole meuniere. Politico-alimentary analysts noted that the tall, lean Mr. Leotard is a jogger and undoubtedly appeals to a fitness-minded constituency. In fact, the Leotardians relegated the sacrosanct gigot to third place, after grilled lobster.

The candidates, from left to right philosophically, are Mr. Lajoinie, Mr. Mitterrand, Michel Rocard, Mr. Leotard, Mr. Barre, Mr. Chirac and Mr. Le Pen. Mr. Mitterrand and Mr. Rocard are Socialists; Mr. Leotard and Mr. Barre are centrists; Mr. Chirac is somewhat right of center.

Pastis, the drink of the Marseilles bars, is the favorite aperitif of the extremes, the Communists of Mr. Lajoinie and the rightists behind Mr. Le Pen, and, a political anomaly, the Mitterrandists. Everyone else in France opted for - what else? - Champagne. Predictably, followers of Mr. Lajoinie - a good comrade and standard-bearer of the proletariat -put Champagne seventh, the very bottom of the list.

Everyone but the extreme left, the extreme right and the moderates of Mr. Chirac made nonalcoholic drinks their second choice. Mr. Le Pen's faithful of the far right indicated that they'd prefer a whisky if they couldn't get pastis; Mr. Lajoinie's adherents would go for a kir, the ubiquitous melange of white wine and cassis.

Oddly enough, the right-wing Le Pen fans also put kir fairly high -third. Everyone else put it near the bottom of the list. What would the political analysts say?

If the extremists of the left and right continue to favor an unfashionable drink, does it mean they are unfashionable, too?

Riesling, it turns out, is the majority's choice for a first-course white wine. Since everyone made shellfish either first or second choice as a first course, it stood to reason that they'd choose a white wine to go with it. But riesling was something of a surprise. The Socialists, whether Mitterrandists or Rocardians, agreed on Muscadet, and the National Front people went for rose from Provence.

With everyone in the country agreeing on Bordeaux as the wine of any meal, Burgundy and Beaujolais enthusiasts had to battle for second place. Burgundy won out, but only slightly. The Communists, Mitterrand Socialists and Chiracians went for Beaujolais; the Rocard camp, Mr. Barre's faithful and the Le Penists preferred Burgundy. Mr. Leotard's upwardly mobile joggers picked Champagne - not your usual dinner wine. The Communists, apparently true to their principles, ignored capitalistic Champagne. Not enough of them mentioned it to make it statistically meaningful.

As side dishes, almost everyone placed fresh vegetables or mushrooms either first or second. The one exception: the Communists. Their favorite: white beans (flageolets). Pasta was a total flop; each group placed it last or next-to-last, except the Rocard Socialists, who saved their disdain for pureed vegetables and french fries.

In a similar poll conducted in 1972, the gigot was already king, but coq au vin and pot au feu were second and third. In the new poll, pot au feu was everyone's last choice, except for the Communists, who put it fifth out of seven. Coq au vin was almost as low, and soup as a first course was nearly universally condemned. Everyone had it sixth or seventh.

Aside from the pro-bean and anti-Champagne Communists and the peculiar propensity of the rightists for rose, the poll showed a striking degree of unanimity among Frenchmen of all social strata and political leanings when it comes to eating and drinking. Frenchmen are a contentious lot. To an outsider, they rarely seem to agree on anything. So when General de Gaulle spoke of French aspirations, of French genius, of French uniqueness, even his countrymen dismissed him as a romantic anachronism, a holdover from the Congress of Vienna. But maybe he was right. If a leg of lamb, saignant, and a good bottle of St.-Emilion don't speak volumes about shared values, what does?