I have a new Paris obsession - Marché Président Wilson. It happens on Wednesdays and Saturdays and is a short 10 minute walk from the apartment down Avenue Bosquet and across Pont d'Alma. I vow not to miss a single market day until I leave Paris.
This morning when I tucked into the aisle of stalls I was greeted by a trio of homards de Breton dancing across a bucket of freshly shaved ice. Fresh flower smells - pivoines, roses and freesias - mixed not unpleasantly with seafood smells and further up I could see what looked like a freshly mowed field of lettuce. Boxes and boxes of fluffy lettuces in all shades of greens, purples and earthy browns.
This is my 17 euros shopping spree from this morning...
|Paella (enough for 2 dinners!), tarte d'abricot, a fresh wedge of blue cheese, three madeleines and a pint of strawberries|
The market is one of the best places to practice my French as the stall owners will happily discuss the merits of their beautiful products and assure you are getting the best. I like to ask a question relating to one of their products.
Est-ce que vous avez le fromage de chèvre en bleu? (Do you have blue goat cheese?)
I take my shopping basket and can easily spend a few hours poking through the stalls. It's a far more pleasant experience than having a stranger ram into me with their overflowing shopping cart of family-sized boxed cereals and 2 pound tubs of margarine.
Money management from the market fruit vendor...
I was digging in my change purse trying to find the correct centimes to pay for my strawberries. When I gave up, the vendor reached over and took my purse so she could have a dig through. She dumped the contents upside down into her hand and efficiently counted out all of my centimes. "Voilà!", she declared. She then returned my purse and strawberries with a friendly smile and a "Bonne journée, Madame!"
What kind of market is this...
While admiring a shiny sable fish, the fish monger introduced himself and demanded to know where I was from. Canada excited him. Without missing a breath, he invited me to come back to his house. Ultra-casually and informally with a "tu". I guess he had to ask.
|A picture from my post writing, pre-dinner walk|