Can fries, gravy and curds end a war over words at Olympics?

VANCOUVER — Could a humble plate of fried potatoes, covered with gravy and cheese curds, help break the language barrier?

It might be worth a try — at least worth a bite. The dish is called poutine, commonly pronounced "poo-TEEN." It hails from Quebec, and we had our first taste here this week.

But first, to set the scene:

One of the subplots buzzing at these Olympics is whether the French language is getting proper exposure. Some government officials, and journalists from French-speaking Quebec, say French is being slighted.

It's a tricky matter. Only 1.5 percent of British Columbians speak French as their first language, but French and English are the official languages not just of the Olympics but of Canada.

That means if federal dollars are involved — and billions of them are — the two languages are supposed to be presented equally.

We see lots of printed French in the press center, where bilingual signs indicate first aid is "premiers soins" and a wireless hot spot is "point d'acces sans fil." Briefings are conducted primarily in English, with French interpretation available via headphones.

But there's no denying that English, the language most prevalent not just among those hosting the Games but those attending them, is heard most often from the podium at Olympic events and celebrations.

After the Opening Ceremony, Canada's Heritage Minister James Moore praised the pageantry, but told CBC News, "There should have been more French. Period." A similar comment came from Quebec Premier Jean Charest, head of a province where 85 percent of the people speak French.

Montreal's La Presse ran an editorial urging the Vancouver Organizing Committee (VANOC) to recognize that "Official bilingualism is not a constraint; it is a symbol of the country's unique approach to diversity."

The politics of language has historically been serious business in Canada. Friction between Canada's English and French-speaking populations dates back to the arrival of European settlers in the 1600s, and has flared periodic secession movements in Quebec. In an effort to promote harmony between the two cultural groups, the country officially became bilingual in 1969.

Nationwide, 23.6 percent of Canadians speak French as their primary language.

This situation at the Olympics has been brewing for many months. After the $170 million Richmond Olympic Oval opened in late 2008, Francophiles complained that its exterior sign gave its name only in English.

City officials in Richmond, which provided the bulk of the financing for the building, said they felt no obligation to add French.

In Richmond, where more than four out of 10 residents are of Chinese descent, it's easy to hear Mandarin or Cantonese on the street. Not French.

VANOC finally stepped in to pay for French lettering, which now — below the English — identifies the building as "Anneau Olympique de Richmond."

Before any more hard feelings are generated in this language flap, perhaps everyone involved should stop by Granville Island, designated home-of-all-things French during these Olympics.

Visitors can attend free outdoor concerts of artists performing in French, learn about Vancouver's French-speaking community and sip an apple ice wine from Quebec.

And perhaps most important, they can order up a plate of poutine at Club Adrenaline, a French restaurant temporarily operating in a community gymnasium.

In this signature Quebec dish, much loved but also much mocked by sophisticates, potato wedges are fried, then covered with gravy — the version here flavored with a tangy barbecue sauce — and topped with cheese curds. A $12 plate is plenty for two.

Gerry Gebert drove six hours from her home in Williams Lake, B.C., just to be part of this scene and to have her first plate of poutine with her son, Rob, who lives is Saskatchewan.

"The potatoes have a nice smokey taste, the sauce is a little sweet and tangy. It's very good," she said.

Behind the counter, Judith Gagne, 56, has been serving countless plates of poutine to people who speak English, French and assorted other languages.

And — at least while they're here — they're not arguing about what language should be spoken at the Olympics.

They're not arguing about anything, in fact. They're too busy eating.

That's the power of poutine.

Jack Broom: 206-464-2222 or jbroom@seattletimes.com