What does ‘Omlette du Fromage’ mean?
Say the words "omelette du Fromage" to anyone aged 21 to 30 and it will spark something in their mind. Maybe it sparked something in yours just now? And yes, you might not know why, but luckily I have the answer: 20 years ago an episode of the cartoon Dexter's Laboratory was broadcast that would go on to define a generation – an episode centred around the phrase "omelette du Fromage".
In this episode, "The Big Cheese", protagonist and boy genius Dexter tries to learn French by listening to a learning tape in bed. However, when he falls asleep the tape gets stuck and repeats one phrase over and over again: "omelette du Fromage".
Dexter awakes to find that all he can say – whatever the situation – is that phrase. While it initially seems like a nightmare, a sequence of good luck comes his way. Favourable test questions lead to hitting records; hit records take him all the way to impassioned speeches at the UN; and, in one day, he manages to become a global superstar saying just this one phrase.
So to mark 20 years since the episode was the first broadcast, I'm going to put this run of good luck to the test: by only saying "omelette du Fromage" all day and seeing where it takes me.
I awake, face down in a fog of morning breath. My mouth scrunches into a smile: cheese fucking omelette. I haven't told anybody about what I'm going to do today, bar my notepad, in which I've written: "I want it just to happen, naturally, like in the episode."
I move into the kitchen, trying to make enough noise to wake up my girlfriend. After tossing a bunch of bruised bananas out of the back door directly at the fence, I'm successful.
"Are you alright?" She stretches out like a cat in the sun.
"What?"
"Omelette."
Sitting up in bed, she looks at me. "I don't know what you're doing," she says, grabbing a towel and heading for the shower, "but just leave me alone until you're over it."
When she emerges, dressed, I'm sat at the table carving up a cheese omelette. She looks at me, then the plate, then me again, then shakes her head in disgust. "Couldn't you have chosen to do this another day, Oobah?"
"…Omelette du Fromage."
"It's Saturday, probably the nicest day of the year, and I'm away all of next week. None of this occurred to you?"
"Omelette."
My girlfriend walks out the door, so it's on with the experiment: time to grasp for some of the money, fame and recognition bestowed upon Dexter. Where best to start? The bookies, of course. And which horse am I betting on?
Surely William Hill won't let this happen? To accept a fiver bet on a fictitious horse. A fictitious horse with made up odds. I approach the counter.
"Hello sir, is this it?"
"Omelette du Fromage."
"Sorry?"
"Omelette du Fromage… omelette?"
"No English? Let me have that, mate." He takes the slip and studies it. "Do you have a passport?"
"Fromage." I hand him the document. He stares intently at the slip and calls his manager. They chat, quietly. Eventually, he approaches.
I can't believe it. The house always wins.
Next, I'm off to my local café. Omelettes aren't even on the menu. I come here most days for coffee and I'll often put change in a pot that says, "Justin Beiber Assassination Fund" [sic]. Barrelling through the door, I'm greeted warmly by Molly – her accent, broad Yorkshire, and her hair coloured like chicken.