French has been the language of the courts and the well-off here since the Burgundian dukes ran the Low Countries from Brussels in the 1400s, but most Walloons went on speaking Walloon until the early twentieth century. France annexed the region in 1795, and the new Belgian state of 1830 ran everything in French despite a Dutch-speaking majority. It was school, and the years after 1945, that finished Walloon off at home. What came through is a French with Walloon and Dutch fingerprints all over it. Belgians say septante and nonante, use savoir where France uses pouvoir (“je ne sais pas ouvrir la porte”), hand you things with a “s'il vous plaît”, and in Brussels drop in “une fois”, lifted from Dutch eens. The accent keeps vowels France has merged, so brin and brun still sound different, and wagon starts with a w. And non peut-être, below, means yes, obviously.
Belgian French for doing something with no method at all, whatever falls out however it falls. Answer an exam à pouf and you are guessing every line; plan a holiday à pouf and you have booked precisely nothing. Where 'pouf' itself comes from, nobody is sure.
In Belgian French this means getting a scolding or dressing down. It is easy to confuse it with the similar sounding idiom about mustard rising to your nose, which instead means losing your temper.
The Belgian twist on 'après moi le déluge', the standard-French shrug toward whatever happens once you're out the door. Why Belgian French swapped the flood for flies isn't recorded anywhere.
Used in Belgium, Switzerland and just over the French border to the north, this is what a mediator does: step between two sides who won't speak to each other and quietly patch things up. It carries a slightly makeshift, improvised feel, more a bit of string and tape than a formal settlement, which fits a word, bidon, that elsewhere in French slang means fake or cobbled together.
Abribus is the word everywhere else. In Belgium, and in Alsace too, the same word already used for a small newspaper kiosk covers the bus shelter as well.
Said of someone whose trousers ride up short enough to show their socks, as though they had hitched them up to keep dry from a flood down in the basement. Belgians mostly say dans les caves and the Swiss à la cave; this singular form is the one heard in Moselle and Canada.
Belgian French does something standard French won't: bolt an adjective straight onto avoir and skip the usual avoir du mal or avoir des difficultés altogether. J'ai eu dur avec cet examen tells any Walloon or Brussels listener you had a rough time of it, no extra words required. It belongs to a small family of Belgian constructions built the same way, avoir facile, avoir difficile, avoir dur, all short-circuiting the standard grammar.
The mirror image of avoir dur: someone has it easier than the next person, thanks to circumstance rather than effort. It's one of a cluster of Belgian French phrases that bolt an adjective straight onto avoir instead of reaching for avoir de la facilité, and it turns up constantly in ordinary grumbling about who's got the better deal at work or school.
Being shut away with your books before exams gets a rather martial name in Belgium, blocus, the word for a siege. Standard French just calls it les révisions.
Standard French would call it une blague. Belgium and the far north of France have a word of their own for the harmless fib, usually heard in the plural.
France calls it an endive. In Belgium and the north of France it is a chicon, and chicons au gratin, rolled in ham under a cheese sauce, turn up on a lot of winter tables.
Most of France reaches for the poignée de porte, or the bec-de-cane. Belgians, and plenty of people in the north and east of France, reach for the clenche.
France has no single word to match it. A couque au chocolat is a pain au chocolat and a couque de Dinant is a hard honey biscuit, so viennoiserie is the nearest French catch-all, and even that leaves out the biscuit.
In standard French you déjeuner at midday and dîner in the evening. Belgium, Switzerland, Canada and parts of France keep dîner for the midday meal, which is the older sense.
France calls it argent de poche, though a dringuelle is less a weekly allowance than the money that turns up in a birthday card. In Belgium it can also mean a tip.
In France you dry yourself with a serviette and the dishes with a torchon. The Belgian essuie does both jobs, and this is the one for after the shower.
“it's falling one of those draches (comes from a Flemish word)”
it's pouring rain
This expression describes heavy rainfall or a downpour. 'Drache' is a typical Belgian word that has been added to major French dictionaries like Larousse and Robert.
dividing public funds equally between two regions regardless of need
A waffle iron presses two identical halves at once, and Belgian public spending worked much the same way for decades. Money for a project in one language region had to be matched, franc for franc, with a comparable project in the other, whether or not the second project made much sense. It kept an uneasy peace between Flanders and Wallonia, at the cost of a lot of pointless spending.
Standard French keeps s’il vous plaît for please. In Belgium, Nord-Pas-de-Calais and Picardy it is also what you say as you hand something over, where France would say voilà or tenez.
In France the evening meal is le dîner. Where dîner still means lunch, in Belgium, Switzerland, Canada and parts of southern France, the evening meal is le souper.
The one who falls is the one being admired: you fall into someone's eye when they like what they see. Elsewhere in French, 'taper dans l'œil' does the same job.