Different Sizes, Same Passion #3

The final food fix in this particular trilogy is the smallest and, in my own soppy judgment, the sweetest of the lot. A sprightly Frenchman selling fresh fruit and vegetables is a quintessential image of l'hexagon, to which I travelled just over a month ago, yet this particular vendor was not sandwiched between fresh bread and seafood stalls in a bustling city market. Rather, he was set up on his own in a small town car park; as vibrant in spirit as the colour of his carrots and tomatoes, despite his lack of company or the rain that fell from cloudy skies. It's a shame that, already rushing to catch a train to Paris, I could not stop and buy something from this admirable chap, but he was more than happy for me to take his picture (I couldn't think quickly enough to ask him if he would mind appearing on the internet!).

The produce did look delicous, though, and was worthy enough for Monsieur to sell unaccompanied in the best spot he could find, albeit with petrol fumes wafting past!

So, there we are, three places that differ in form but not in function, as each provides the customer with food that is tasty and rustic; grown and sold with pride to us who will cook and eat it with pleasure. I hope this has inspired you to look for the likes of it in your area.

Un petit cours in French home dining

I have very recently spent a week living with a family just outside of Paris, and so have had a taste of eating habits in a French household. One thing I have learned and now pass on as a minor word of warning to any feeble-stomached, travelling Englishman: home-cooked meals are always three courses long, at lunchtime as in the evening.

More than once, in the early days of getting used to this new regime, I made the fatal error of serving myself a hefty portion of what I supposed was the meal in its entirety, when it was in fact the lighter of two savoury courses (if not three, should a cheese platter be included before dessert). Being the grateful guest that I was, I didn't dream of refusing the following dishes, nor of explaining that, in my normal English existence, three-course meals are reserved from restaurant dining and Christmas time. I don't know of any British household that serves three courses at lunch and dinner (that is to say that, if such as household does exist, I have never eaten at it).

I soon learned the way to enjoy three-course meals twice a day without rendering myself fit to burst: I did my best to pass on the bread basket during the starter (although butter-laden baguette is one of life's simple pleasures), instead savouring the natural flavours of an exquisitely presented salad using fresh, local vegetables and leaves. Likewise with the main course, a little of the roast meat and cooked vegetables with enough substance (usually rice or potatoes) to soak up the accompanying sauce sufficed; following that would be no more than a small bowl of ice cream or fresh fruit, the latter so tasty that nobody missed anything stodgier or sweeter.

As I learned, I began to favour this French way of dining at home. Having eaten at such an idle pace with relatively little bulk to what was served back home, I consumed slightly more yet finished feeling less full. Another benefit was that enjoying each course and waiting for the next gave greater time to sit, talk and relax; dinnertime was a family occasion in itself.
Sadly, I haven't much faith that three-course, home-cooked meals could become a tendency in many British households, simply because I don't believe we (generalised) care enough about dining to make such an effort. Yet, the giving of time to enjoying good food and beloved company is a French aspect of dining that I have hope we can see more of in this country, particularly in the daily lives of English families.