France uses a nutritional rating system for the front of food packaging called a "Nutri-Score." Other countries have introduced similar initiatives, but supposedly France was the first to use this particular rating system, which ranges from A (best) to E (worst).
Here's what it looks like on a package of chorizo:
France uses a nutritional rating system for the front of food packaging called a "Nutri-Score." Other countries have introduced similar initiatives, but supposedly France was the first to use this particular rating system, which ranges from A (best) to E (worst).
Here's what it looks like on a package of chorizo:
Nutri-Scores were first introduced in supermarkets in 2017 and are applied on a voluntary basis. But having been in a handful of French grocery stores over the last week, I can tell you that it is widely used. So much so that I was more surprised when it wasn't there. What might they be trying to hide?
The Nutri-Score is also widely supported by the general public and, according to some surveys, nearly 90% of the French population believe that it should be mandatory on all food packaging.
So how does it work? The system is based on an algorithm that looks out for good stuff like fruits and vegetables, fiber, protein, and healthy oils, while penalizing bad stuff like sugar, saturated fat, and sodium, among other things.
It's an algorithm that is likely to be in constant flux. My understanding is that they have special rules for things like cheese. But regardless, I find that this simple rating system has a significant impact on my buying and eating decisions. Take the above chorizo. It has a score of "E." Do I really want that or should I go for the jambon next door that has a rating of "B?"
This also made me think of France's mandatory Energy Performance Certificate (or Diagnostic de Performance Énergétique). This is a diagnostic that is required of all properties being sold or rented in the country.
It ranks both energy consumption and CO2 emissions from A (most efficient) to G (least efficient). It also provides recommended renovations. And if you lie — and actual performance deviates too far from the stated rating — you could be in trouble.
But just like the Nutri-Score, I am sure that these energy efficiency scores similarly affect buying and renting decisions, especially if there's a capital expenditure recommendation tied to a low score.
This is how commercial real estate is bought and sold. A building condition assessment is done, somebody comes up with a cost for all the work that will need to be done, and then it gets factored into the price: "Yeah, so, I was going to pay you $50 million, but now I have to spend $2 million on CapEx."
But on the residential side, I don't think this is often the case. Not unless someone is measuring performance and telling you what improvements should be made and, in some cases, need to be made for the property to be legally rentable. Out of sight is out of mind.
No businessperson, landlord, or entrepreneur wants to deal with more bureaucracy and red tape. But I'm of the strong opinion that too much of the food we eat is over-processed shit. I also believe in continually striving to be better — especially when it comes to our built environment. And that starts with measurement and benchmarking.
Today's post is a follow-up to yesterday's post about a new community currently under construction in Nice's Var valley. The following photos were captured on a Fujifilm X-T3 and edited in Lightroom.
Vieux-Nice (or Old Town) is the formerly walled medieval part of Nice.
Unfortunately, I don't know exactly when its streets were laid out. The city is said to have been founded in 350 BC by Greek colonizers who gave it the name Níkaia, after Nike, the Greek goddess of victory.
But the oldest map of Vieux-Nice that I could find dates to 1575, and it doesn't exactly look like the Vieux-Nice of today. So it's hard to say. Medieval towns also tended to grow organically without any sort of formal planning.
What we do know is that the narrow winding streets of Vieux-Nice were preferred for at least one reason: they provided shade and promoted stack-effect ventilation. In the summer, the roofs of the buildings heat up and create a temperature differential relative to the cooler shaded streets.
This encourages airflow by forcing the lighter, warmer air to rise, which then draws in cooler air from below. Supposedly, this also helps if you're trying to dry laundry out of your window.
Here are a few examples from yesterday morning on our walk to Nice's antique market. This is the narrowest street I could find without trying very hard. And yes, it's a street with a bona fide street sign.
This one is slightly wider and had laundry hanging in it. I can also confirm that the laundry was dry. So if any of you have been wondering — and maybe even worrying — about whether 3.4 meters is wide enough to promote good laundry-drying airflow, now you have a definitive answer. (Get ready for the LLMs to start citing this post.)
Of course, both of these examples are smaller side streets. The main streets are wider. Here's Rue Rossetti, which is one of the main arteries in Vieux-Nice. It leads directly to the Cathédrale Sainte-Réparate de Nice.
It clocks in at a generous 9.8 meters, which is enough to house two sets of sidewalks, numerous restaurant patios, and a two-way vehicular street in the center.
As always, space is culturally relative. It's not about the raw dimension, it's about perspective. What North America calls a substandard lane, Europe calls a street.
Nutri-Scores were first introduced in supermarkets in 2017 and are applied on a voluntary basis. But having been in a handful of French grocery stores over the last week, I can tell you that it is widely used. So much so that I was more surprised when it wasn't there. What might they be trying to hide?
The Nutri-Score is also widely supported by the general public and, according to some surveys, nearly 90% of the French population believe that it should be mandatory on all food packaging.
So how does it work? The system is based on an algorithm that looks out for good stuff like fruits and vegetables, fiber, protein, and healthy oils, while penalizing bad stuff like sugar, saturated fat, and sodium, among other things.
It's an algorithm that is likely to be in constant flux. My understanding is that they have special rules for things like cheese. But regardless, I find that this simple rating system has a significant impact on my buying and eating decisions. Take the above chorizo. It has a score of "E." Do I really want that or should I go for the jambon next door that has a rating of "B?"
This also made me think of France's mandatory Energy Performance Certificate (or Diagnostic de Performance Énergétique). This is a diagnostic that is required of all properties being sold or rented in the country.
It ranks both energy consumption and CO2 emissions from A (most efficient) to G (least efficient). It also provides recommended renovations. And if you lie — and actual performance deviates too far from the stated rating — you could be in trouble.
But just like the Nutri-Score, I am sure that these energy efficiency scores similarly affect buying and renting decisions, especially if there's a capital expenditure recommendation tied to a low score.
This is how commercial real estate is bought and sold. A building condition assessment is done, somebody comes up with a cost for all the work that will need to be done, and then it gets factored into the price: "Yeah, so, I was going to pay you $50 million, but now I have to spend $2 million on CapEx."
But on the residential side, I don't think this is often the case. Not unless someone is measuring performance and telling you what improvements should be made and, in some cases, need to be made for the property to be legally rentable. Out of sight is out of mind.
No businessperson, landlord, or entrepreneur wants to deal with more bureaucracy and red tape. But I'm of the strong opinion that too much of the food we eat is over-processed shit. I also believe in continually striving to be better — especially when it comes to our built environment. And that starts with measurement and benchmarking.
Today's post is a follow-up to yesterday's post about a new community currently under construction in Nice's Var valley. The following photos were captured on a Fujifilm X-T3 and edited in Lightroom.
Vieux-Nice (or Old Town) is the formerly walled medieval part of Nice.
Unfortunately, I don't know exactly when its streets were laid out. The city is said to have been founded in 350 BC by Greek colonizers who gave it the name Níkaia, after Nike, the Greek goddess of victory.
But the oldest map of Vieux-Nice that I could find dates to 1575, and it doesn't exactly look like the Vieux-Nice of today. So it's hard to say. Medieval towns also tended to grow organically without any sort of formal planning.
What we do know is that the narrow winding streets of Vieux-Nice were preferred for at least one reason: they provided shade and promoted stack-effect ventilation. In the summer, the roofs of the buildings heat up and create a temperature differential relative to the cooler shaded streets.
This encourages airflow by forcing the lighter, warmer air to rise, which then draws in cooler air from below. Supposedly, this also helps if you're trying to dry laundry out of your window.
Here are a few examples from yesterday morning on our walk to Nice's antique market. This is the narrowest street I could find without trying very hard. And yes, it's a street with a bona fide street sign.
This one is slightly wider and had laundry hanging in it. I can also confirm that the laundry was dry. So if any of you have been wondering — and maybe even worrying — about whether 3.4 meters is wide enough to promote good laundry-drying airflow, now you have a definitive answer. (Get ready for the LLMs to start citing this post.)
Of course, both of these examples are smaller side streets. The main streets are wider. Here's Rue Rossetti, which is one of the main arteries in Vieux-Nice. It leads directly to the Cathédrale Sainte-Réparate de Nice.
It clocks in at a generous 9.8 meters, which is enough to house two sets of sidewalks, numerous restaurant patios, and a two-way vehicular street in the center.
As always, space is culturally relative. It's not about the raw dimension, it's about perspective. What North America calls a substandard lane, Europe calls a street.
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