Food Shopping Through French-Colored Glasses

This weekend I went to a local farmers market in Los Angeles and although the food was fresh and there were many varieties to choose from, a certain excitement was missing, something was lacking. lacking from what I experience in France every time I am there. What was it? I could not put my finger on it, ..until this afternoon, when I looked again at author Mirelle GUILIANO's wonderful book "French Women Don't Get Fat" and there it was and here is what she wrote:

Whether in the French provincial villages, cities or Paris itself, on certain days of the week you can always see the trucks in the local squares and lining the streets. This caravan is hauling fresh produce, the best of the season, from meat and game, fruits and vegetables, herbs and spices. Have you ever seen twenty-seven varieties of olives in as many barrels?

Market day is a tradition dating back centuries, since before France was Gaul. Why does it persist in the 21st century even as French conglomerates have erected hypermarchés (supermarkets that could rival any American ones in size)? Why do people of all walks of life brave the cold and heat, rain or shine, to choose among three varieties of string beans, seven types of potatoes, various shapes of bread, quail eggs, organic hens, wild boar, forty-three varieties of cheese, untold numbers of herbs, fish, and of course fresh-cut flowers?

Knowing where it comes from

The term "artisanal" lately creeping into American restaurants and markets provides a clue. Handcrafted quality has always been at the heart of French gastronomy and culture. French women live by it. It encompasses handling as well as production: eggs that are hours, not months, old; the yolks not pale yellow, but orange and exploding with flavor. It means white peaches picked early that morning oozing with juices and destined to live at peak intensity for but a day before slowly dying.

Faire son marché (to do one’s food shopping) remains a vital French institution, here to stay despite the proliferation of the hypermarkets (now, mercifully, limited by law). It’s a vital social occasion. We see our neighbors, compare notes, and crucially, get to know the producers, the farmers who come to recognize you and you learn to trust. It’s critically important, because in France one does not dare squeeze the merchandise; rather, the trusted purveyors pick among the produce for you according to when you plan to eat something, how and with what. This discussion can go on a bit, and the next in line waits quite patiently, respecting the seriousness of her neighbor’s business.
If you go to France and never experience an outdoor village market, then your French experience is not complete, you will never understand the culture unless you do!