La Langue: “Smörgåsbord, Ombud… and 30% French?” Why English is stuffed with French (and how not to trip over travailler)

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At dinner Friday, our new suédois friend Bo claimed there aren’t many Swedish words in English. He offered ombudsman—and I countered with my only Swedish superpower: smörgåsbord. (If vocabulary were calories, I’d be fluent.) For the record, ombudsman really is Swedish in origin, meaning a representative who investigates complaints, and smörgåsbord really is a “sandwich table,” i.e., a glorious buffet. (Etymology Online)

But French? Whole different buffet. Roughly a third of English vocabulary comes from French (often via Anglo-Norman), thanks to history’s most consequential dinner invitation: 1066. William the Conqueror arrives, French-speaking elites run the show, and for centuries the languages mingle—especially in law, government, cuisine, fashion, and culture. Estimates based on the Shorter Oxford Dictionary’s ~75–80k-word survey peg French-at-origin entries at ~28–30% (give or take, depending on who’s counting). (Wikipedia)

The 3-minute timeline (hold my baguette)

  • 1066–1200s: Anglo-Norman French becomes the language of court and administration; English keeps chugging along with the people. (Bayeux Tapestry fans, this is your moment.) (Oxford Research Encyclopedia)

  • 1362: The Statute of Pleading lets court business be done in English, but the legal vocabulary stays very Frenchy for ages—hence attorney, plaintiff, verdict. (Wikipedia)

  • Later waves: Renaissance and beyond bring stylish loans straight from Paris: menu, ballet, prestige, boutique. English ends up with a posh double wardrobe: cow on the farm, beef at dinner; pig vs pork; sheep vs mutton. (The neat animal/meat split is a bit more nuanced than the classroom legend, but the French/English register contrast is very real.) (Smithsonian Magazine)

Cognates: a blessing… and a booby trap (bonjour, false friends)

Yes, French is your shortcut. Yes, it will also lovingly shove you into a linguistic pothole.

Exhibit A: travailler. It looks like travel, but it means to work (and originally meant toil/torment from the Latin tripalium, a torture device… so Monday mornings make historical sense). Meanwhile travel in English comes through the same root via travail (toil)… and then toddled off to mean going places. Language is chaos; bring snacks. (Etymology Online)

Quick decoder ring: French → English

  • -tion ↔ -tion (information, nation).

  • -ment ↔ -ment (gouvernement → government).

  • -t(é) ↔ -ty (université → university).

  • -eur ↔ -or/-er (acteur → actor; danseur → dancer).

  • -ique ↔ -ic/-ical (électrique → electric; politique → political).

  • -if/-ive ↔ -ive (actif → active).

  • S-dropping trick: French often loses an s and adds an accent; English keeps the s: hôpital → hospital; état → state; école → school.

  • Register clue: If it’s law/government (attorney, jury, justice), fine dining (beef, pork, menu), or fashion (couture, boutique), chances are you’re in French territory. (Wikipedia)

Faux amis to watch (aka “words that catfish”)

  • travailler ≠ travel (work) — see above. (Etymology Online)

  • actuellement ≠ actually (means currently).

  • éventuellement ≠ eventually (means possibly).

  • librairie ≠ library (bookshop).

  • location ≠ location (rental).

  • sensible ≠ sensible (sensitive).

  • déception ≠ deception (disappointment).

  • préservatif ≠ preservative (condom—ask me how I learned this the awkward way).

Swedish side-quest (for Bo 🫶)

English didn’t borrow much from Swedish, but where it did, it made headlines: ombudsman for an independent complaint-handler (today often shortened to ombuds/ombudsperson), and smörgåsbord for that glorious buffet of cold and hot dishes. Both are straight from Swedish. Tack! (Etymology Online)

Level-by-level tips (mini smörgåsbord of study hacks)

A1

  • Learn the “big five” French-to-English pairs in daily life: menu, café, restaurant, police, ticket.

  • Start a “Faux Ami Hall of Fame” note on your phone (put travailler at the top).

A2

  • Drill suffix families: make columns for -tion/-ment/-té/-eur and add 5 words each week.

  • Practice the S-dropping trick: write French état/école/hôpital → English state/school/hospital.

B1

  • Sort new vocab by register. Color-code law/government vs. cooking vs. fashion. You’ll feel très organized.

  • Shadow-read short news pieces and highlight all French-looking words you already “half know.”

B2

  • Keep a “cognate notebook” with roots (e.g., port-, struct-, spect-) and derive both English and French families.

  • Build a personal list of false friends with example sentences you actually use.

Advanced

  • Read a page of legal or culinary English and “back-translate” to French terms (and vice versa).

  • Track semantic drift: pick 5 near-cognates and research how meanings split over time (bonus nerd points if you peek at etymological dictionaries).

If you like neat receipts for all this: the Shorter Oxford survey with ~28–30% French-origin entries; the Norman Conquest timeline from Oxford and the OED; the 1362 Statute of Pleading for the legal switch; and the delicious Swedish etymologies for ombudsman and smörgåsbord. (Wikipedia)

Your turn 👇

Which French (or Swedish!) word in English surprised you most? Confess your favorite false friend (actuellement, I’m looking at you), or share a mini smörgåsbord of cognates you’ve “decoded” lately. Bonus points if you can beat my travailler/travel faceplant. Allez—drop a comment and help future Aix newbies dodge the same banana peels!

Location: Sweden