Saturday morning dawned sunny and beautiful in Paris. Martha agreed to accompany me to the Wilson market, which sets up on Saturdays and Wednesdays and is truly a visual feast. I take my handy rolling cart on the metro three stops, and the market awaits me when I pop back up above ground. It stretches for a long block, and ends just steps away from the metro that whisks me two stops back to my house. I have gone for the past two Saturdays, and it has been a fun way to do the bulk of my grocery shopping. I’m not so sure how great it will be when it’s cold and rainy, but it’s never that way in Paris, right? I was so happy that Martha wanted to go with me, and thrilled that she took so many great pictures. Enjoy!
So basically, it’s a lot like shopping at HEB but without the jaunty tunes playing overhead. I have a lot to learn about market etiquette, market vocabulary, how to load my little caddy so stuff doesn’t get squished, and how to avoid paying 6 euros for a cantaloupe. It better be the best damn melon I have ever eaten, is all I can say about that little mistake. There is one particular vendor who is very popular. I think his stuff is all locally grown, but I still haven’t figured it out for sure because the crowd is always too deep for me to get close enough to read the signs. One of these mornings I’ll get there early enough to buy from him and I will report back. It could just be that he’s super hot or something.
As Martha and I approached our return metro station we were tempted by a cafe offering breakfast at sidewalk tables.
It was a wonderful way to end our shopping trip. Until a homeless woman with a cat poking out of her shirt sat down a few tables away and counted out coins for breakfast. I felt like I should give her some of our newly acquired stuff. But NOT the cantaloupe.
Shop local, my friends, and always know how much you are paying for melons.