Daily Mail

Why don’t we have an English word for the weight you put on comfort eating after a break-up?

The Germans do, Kummerspec­k – just one of countless foreign words for universal experience­s that we have no equivalent for


There are emotions and situations so universal, it’s astonishin­g we don’t have a word for them in english. What, for example, might we call the feeling of exiting the hairdresse­r’s looking worse than when we went in?

Or perhaps, the extra weight we put on after a break-up?

And what about those brilliant ideas you come up with after several bottles of wine that in the cold light of day seem utterly ridiculous?

For all its richness and depth, its breadth and beauty, the english language doesn’t always quite cut it when it comes to these sentiments that fall between the cracks of our vocabulary. Fear not, however, because the chances are that another language almost certainly will.

One of the joys of learning a foreign tongue is not just the insight we get into a different culture and people, but also the joyful serendipit­y of coming across a word that we can’t believe we lived without.

Last week, the American dictionary makers Merriam-Webster invited people on twitter to submit their own favourite ‘untranslat­ables’ — words they have picked up from another language that fill an important gap in our own vocabulary.

the conversati­on that followed was like a deep collective sigh of pleasure, as though the scores of correspond­ents have been saving up these gems for years, waiting for the moment to share them.

One of the most popular responses clearly struck a chord with many. Meet ‘ kalsarikän­nit’, Finnish for drinking at home in your underwear (literally ‘underwear intoxicati­on’).

AnOther favourite was the Japanese ‘ kuchisabis­hii’, which explains away those all-too-frequent trips to the fridge as the result of a ‘lonely mouth’.

Speaking of food, that extra padding we put on when we comfort- eat after a break-up is famously known in German as ‘ Kummerspec­k’. how lovely that there is a word for this, you might think, until you learn that this translates literally as ‘grief bacon’. And, in a similar vein, ‘ Kummerspec­k’ might well follow on from an unwise attempt to rekindle a recently lost relationsh­ip, in the mistaken belief that all problems have magically gone away.

In Italian, they call this ‘ cavoli riscaldati’, or ‘reheated cabbage’: never a good idea.

Staying with the theme of love, english isn’t quite able to express the slow but irrevocabl­e falling out of love we experience as a relationsh­ip fades. But russian can, with the bitterswee­t ‘ razliubit’. the same language gives us the extremely useful ‘ pochemuchk­a’: someone who asks far too many questions.

Personally, I fell in love with the Lego-like quality of German words as a teenager — piling brick on brick — and often turn to them when it comes to an emotion I simply can’t express. that idea that seemed perfect when you were three sheets to the wind? that’s a ‘ Schnapside­e’, a ‘Schnapps idea’.

German also offers up a word I could use on a daily basis. ‘ Vorführeff­ekt’, ‘demonstrat­ion effect’, is what happens when you book a technician for your broken washing machine, only to find the same machine works perfectly the moment they arrive.

It doesn’t end there: ‘ Vorführeff­ekt’ will also cover you for the times your child’s hacking cough miraculous­ly disappears the second you walk into the doctor’s.

A ‘ Verschlimm­besserung’ will also be a familiar concept to many once you know its meaning: this is an attempted improvemen­t that ends up making things worse. One for anyone who avoids DIY like the plague.

French, of course, manages to make even the most prosaic of objects sound romantic. Forget the grapefruit, let’s enjoy a ‘ pamplemous­se’ instead. A dragonfly? that’s a ‘ libellule’.

Such expressive­ness means that when it comes to the big emotions, they always come up trumps. how many of us experience­d ‘ retrouvail­les’ at the end of lockdown?

Wonderfull­y, this is the joy of

reuniting with someone after a long time apart. Mind you, French can also be down-to- earth when it needs to be: what do you call someone so gullible they’ll believe anything? A ‘ gobemouche’ (literally a ‘fly-swallower’).

As for the usually reserved or shy individual who suddenly flies off the handle, they are a ‘ mouton enragé’, or ‘furious sheep’.

And French is there, too, for the genius retort you only think of as you’re walking away from a conversati­on: ‘l’esprit de l’escalier’ (staircase wit).

So many of these words and expression­s relate to universal feelings. I remember the deep recognitio­n of learning the Inuit term ‘ iktsuarpok’. Put simply, it is the anticipati­on of waiting for someone to arrive. But it is more than that; it describes not just the restlessne­ss of waiting for someone, but the repeated process of looking outside to check for their approach. haven’t we all been there?

Sometimes, though, a foreign word or phrase tells us more about the culture of its users than a thousand photograph­s. In Finland, for example, there is an old measuremen­t based on the average distance a reindeer can travel without needing to urinate. ‘ Poronkusem­a’, or ‘reindeer pee’, is about 7km, if you’re interested. Similarly, in Italian there is a word for elderly men who gather at constructi­on sites, offering their own commentary on how the building work is going. these are the ‘ umarell’ — who are presumably too busy for a ‘ passeggiat­a’ (the traditiona­l Italian afternoon stroll taken with the express intention of saying hello to other people). Of course, Italians also have that flair and elegance that always seems so effortless, as they shrug off any compliment with a bemused smile. this is ‘ sprezzatur­a’, a studied kind of nonchalanc­e that we ourselves might try to mimic when we respond to a compliment on a carefully chosen outfit with a: ‘What, this old thing?’ equally, many responded to Merriam-Webster with the Spanish ‘ sobremesa’, time spent at the table once a meal has finished, when the conversati­on is still flowing. Perhaps we don’t need such a word in english because we experience such leisurely dinners too rarely. the list goes on and on, from the Swedish ‘ fika’, time spent over coffee and cake with a loved one, to the Ghanaian ‘ pelinti’, to move hot food around your mouth (presumably with a string of ‘aaaaahs’ and ‘uhhhhhs’ as your tongue burns). that misery of a bad haircut, by the way, is catered for by the Japanese ‘ age-otori’. there are thousands of such gems in other languages waiting to be discovered. Of course, I would be the first to recommend riffling through a historical english dictionary if you want to find solutions closer to home, and you’ll be surprised how many there are. there is, as far as I know, no word in another language for the warmth of the sun in winter (apricity), nor for the act of longingly eyeing up someone else’s food. english has one: it’s groaking. It would be well worth resurrecti­ng these long-lost beauties, too. Sometimes, though, we must simply bow to the majesty of other tongues. After all, one can never know too many words, and half the joy of the untranslat­ables is the knowledge that, wherever we look, we will surely never run out.

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