Wearing cute afro hair and with a touching expression of puzzled sadness, a mulatto child – sign of a multicultural France – is extremely sad as he feels no love from his traditionalist grandmother who sees him as the fruit of a degrading misalliance. His father, despite his black skin, is a cop, the representative of the authorities, whereas his grandmother tends to embrace the notion of undermining, the local representative of honour of the most exotic offenders (from the suburb’s immigrants to the Russian mafia). The situation is of course a fictitious structure for comical gags, but the implicit satire is not hard to guess. In the real life, Paulette would vote for the National Front, she would advocate against the flow of immigrants (African, Chinese, East-Europeans), she would dream of a much tougher security policy, she would defend the old France, that of the enchanting bistros and the Normand holidays in the country. In order to support her views as regards the cultural differences, she would turn herself into an expatriate, by promoting the ‘lost’ French culture among foreigners who would praise it as a folkloric cliché. But the movie of Jerome Enrico is especially a witty reinterpretation of the exquisite French cuisine. Tarts with cannabis, the belated fruit of the family bistro tradition, with their unique savour, turn into an invincible competitor on today’s narcotic drugs market. And the tolerant Amsterdam, able to host the vanguard of jointed delicacies, is a good model of cultural cross-breeding. Beyond all these things, the recipe of the script is already rather common: ordinary people trying to sweeten blamable habits by providing them with a funny honorability. A petty-bourgeois old lady (now impoverished) becomes a supplier for the neighbourhood junkies, she persuades her senile friends (suffering even from Alzheimer) to join the food narcotics mafia, she involves (using toy guns) in a tough war between gangs and she does not hesitate to refuse a dangerous mafioso who tries to promote her as the new hope of this profession. It’s kind of comforting to see how a little lady is robbed by the suburbs’ ruffians, and then accompanied protectively by a fearsome stout fellow who is carrying her bag filled with cannabis, how she tries to get food waste in dumping carts, and then she enjoys a life of luxury, how she sells drugs in dirty underground passages, and then runs the business by delivering ‘bakery’ take out containers, and how she is freed under the pressure of ordinary people who like her, after being held in custody rightly. And if that were not enough to humanize an unpleasant character who cannot stand her little grandson only because of the colour of his skin, ‘the grand reconciliation’ comes next. The grandmother and her friends armed to the teeth save the little mulatto – who finally gets into his grandmother’s good graces – from the gangsters’ clutches, while the policeman does his duty by arresting them, but he ends up by being happy when the undercover dealers are finally released in the Netherlands, a much more tolerant country. If not for this satirical trace in the background, Paulette would be unconvincing due to the artificial configuration of the gags, made up of simple antitheses through a formal decoupage: common places of the real life are replaced by their opposite, in a more radical manner than in a ‘comedy of errors’. A defenseless old lady plays the role of a drug ring head, the harmless cupcakes are used instead of narcotic drugs, while the agile police officers are fooled by senile female retirees. But who is changing the course of events? The same cute mullato so despised in the beginning. His grandmother decides to quit the business terrified of the possibility of selling ‘cupcakes’ in schools in the future, and of spoiling his grandson. In this way she agrees to the French crossbreeding.