Nutella is [not] a food group

I was so enthralled by all of the oranges and fennel and cabbage and broccoli and seven varieties of lettuce and some strange thing that I had never seen before but that looked like a burnt sweet potato with a wrinkly skin that I didn't realize that it was my turn to place my order.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle!"

I put on an air of confidence, pointed to what I wanted, and in my best French accent, said, "Un kilo, s'il vous plaît."

Internally, I was crossing my fingers, unsure of how much a kilo is in relation to a pound, and wondering if I had just ordered a truckload of spinach or merely a leaf or two.

The vendor then asked me, "Et avec ça?"

I piled on the order until I had everything I wanted, then said, "C'est tout."

He told me the bill. I paid, and said, "Bonne journée." (Have a good day.)

"Et vous aussi, mademoiselle." (You too.)

Et voilà. Groceries!

I moved to the next stand and repeated the process.

In an effort to include those food groups other than baguettes and Nutella in our diets, my roommate and I went to the market this morning. Well, actually I went to the market on both of our behalves. There is one right around the corner from our apartment that has fruits and vegetables, meats and fish, nuts, and even clothes and shoes. One of the things I love about France are the markets. Everyday, in some part of town, there is a fresh food market.

I would have taken pictures, but my arms were too weighed down by the ridiculous amounts of fruits and veggies I purchased...apples, oranges, cherries, spinach, carrots, and much more. In addition to discovering lots of yummy fruits, I also discovered the secret to finding nice Parisiens: go to the market! Everyone there was friendly, even the passersby. It is an unfair generalization, I realize, to judge an entire country based on encounters with just a few unfriendly people. But still, I was glad to run into some smiling faces at my local marché.

The market here was a much welcomed change from the lovely Haymarket at Government Center in Boston. By lovely, I of course mean rude, sanitarily questionable (don't know if that's a word, but the point comes across) faux farmer's market that is really ultra-cheap grocery store left-overs. Here, the vendors were friendly to their customers. Like those at Haymarket, the vendors here handle the fruit themselves. However, unlike Haymarket, they don't choose your fruit because they are afraid you will notice that some of it is rotten. Rather, it's just part of the service.

Shopping at the market takes a bit of patience. At each stand I visited, I had to wait my turn while the vendor took the orders of those before me. The shoppers, mostly middle-aged and older women (I have yet to run into the yuppie, foodie crowd of which I am a part), seemed to order everything the vendor had to offer.

Perhaps as my French improves, I'll venture over to the meat stand. I don't yet know how to say "Your best cut of lamb, s'il vous plaît."

Haha. Like I know how to cook a lamb.