The first step to recovery is admitting that one cannot control one’s addiction or compulsion.

I admit that I have a big, BIG problem with markets.

Today, at the market, I cried over salad.

Yes. Salad.

M and I were at the Italian stand, [...]]]> My name is Kristie. Not only am I a baguette-a-holic, but I am also a market-a-holic.

The first step to recovery is admitting that one cannot control one’s addiction or compulsion.

I admit that I have a big, BIG problem with markets.

Today, at the market, I cried over salad.

Yes. Salad.

M and I were at the Italian stand, trying to work our what type of fresh ravioli we would buy, when a radiant green flashed in the corner of my eye.

A row of different types of salad leaves, in separate wicker baskets.

The first, carrying baby spinach leaves, even more beautiful than their name in French: “Jeunes pousses d’epinards”. How can I explain how perfect they were? Tender, fresh, without a single blemished leaf? How is it possible to have a whole basket of delicate leaves without them looking a little transport-weary? I could have sworn that he had picked each leaf by hand and carried it delicately to rest in the basket.

The next basket was full of fine tendrils of rocket. Not the big, burn-your-mouth-out leaves that I used to buy in Woolworths supermarket in Sydney. These rocket leaves were elegant, fine, gently curling, as if asking to be placed on your fork.

And the other baskets – salad leaves that I have only seen in France, like Mache.

It was a moment of amazement and wonder and I actually welled up. How can you live in a big city, and yet have access to produce that you would normally have to go to the country to find, or grow in your own backyard?

And we’re not even in Paris central. We’re in a little suburb just outside of Paris, and yet the market is open 2 or 3 mornings a week.

This market is undercover, in a big hall on the main street. I walked past it’s grimey doors a million times, thinking it looked too ugly to warrant a visit. The supermarket was just fine by me, and if I wanted a proper market experience, then I would just join my friend, A, at the organic market on Rue de Rennes, in Paris.

But one day, M suggested we make a quick Sunday trip to get a few things before all the shops closed on Monday (yes – in most suburbs, all the shops and restaurants close on Mondays. If you dont have anything in the fridge to eat for Monday night’s dinner – you’re stuffed).

Wow – from a dingy entrance, into a fabulous market atmosphere inside. There are:

• 3 cheese stalls (including my favourite husband and wife stall, where they always seem to be bickering and laughing together)
• one basic butchery, one butchery selling offal, and one butchery selling pate, terrines, pre-prepared meat dishes etc
• 5 fruit and vege stalls, with one particularly raucous Italian fruit and vege stall where the owners always seem to be doing more talking, giving kids strawberries to taste and general frivolity, than selling. I dont know how they do it, but they always have a crowd.
• 2 fish stalls (I avoid these like the plague – the smell for me is just too fishy!!)
• 2 flower/plant stalls (you name it – they got it)
• one wine stall (poor guy is always lonely. Everyone prefers the cute man in the bottleshop across the road)
• one cured meats stall (cured meats from everywhere – Corsica, French mountains, Italy, yum yum…)
• one italian stall, with mozzarella de buffala, fresh pasta, fresh pasta sauce, salami, proscuitto and delicious antipasti
• one stall that just does olives, tapenade and antipasti – thats it.
• one stall that just does potatoes and herbs – and salad…..

Now,  every Sunday, I promise myself that I will only buy the necessities: the things that we have run out of from our 2 weekly supermarket shop, or the things that we cant get anywhere else. I promise myself that I will only buy the items I have written on the list. This is partly because the market is more expensive than the supermarket, but also as a way to control my addiction.

Some weeks, I succeed in only buying the things on the list – hurrah!

Other weeks, I just lose myself in the whirlwind of delicious market goodness; the people, the dogs, the banter between stallholder and local – and I want it too. I want to be given chunks of cheese to taste by the cheeseman, I want the fruit and vege man to greet me with a smile, I want the potato man to say “oh well, its better to have a big tall fiance with a big appetite than a small weedy one!” as he piles an extra couple of spuds in the bag. If I pass a fresh and beautifully pink pork fillet that has never seen a styrofoam tray or chemical preservatives – how can I leave it behind? I imagine that everything I buy from the market is full of vitamins, minerals and health-giving properties, and will without doubt be more delicious than anything I can buy from the “Auchan” supermarket (whether that’s true for everything in the market, I dont know, but the placebo effect works fabulously on me!).

Sometimes, the market isnt even about me, it’s just about watching how other people interact, watching how they choose their produce, listening to the conversations two women are having about their husbands and their work. I listen to the politeness, the protocol of the market, how things must be displayed, the interaction between stallholders who discuss whether it’s time to start packing up or if they can put aside a fillet of salmon for a customer who has just bought some fennel and lemons. This is the true France, the true meeting point of the neighbourhood – and I love it.

If there is such a thing as heaven, I am absolutely positive that there will be a market there.

What is wrong with me??

Cheese is a major part of my life here, as it is for most French people (their daily dairy intake is just spectacular).

I think this topic will need some proper investigation though, because my current approach to French cheeses is unsophisticated (this [...]]]> I realised recently that I have barely talked about cheese.

What is wrong with me??

Cheese is a major part of my life here, as it is for most French people (their daily dairy intake is just spectacular).

I think this topic will need some proper investigation though, because my current approach to French cheeses is unsophisticated (this is putting it nicely).

Here is an example of my current approach to French cheese:

Step 1: I am offered some cheese/I peruse the Fromager’s stall at the market.

Step 2: I accept/buy the cheese.

Step 3: I eat the cheese.

Step 4: I decide that the cheese is delicious and therefore more cheese should be eaten.

I dont ask what the name of the cheese is, what type of animal it comes from, where it has been made, how it has been made, how old it is, what it’s flavour is, whether it’s ripe, what is the best accompaniment etc. These are all things that French people ask – routinely.

Buying cheese at a market stall will take each person a good 5 minutes minimum. They will often seek the guidance of the fromager or stallholder. Here is a standard cheese buying process for a French person:

• If the Frenchie doesnt have a specific cheese in mind, they will explain to the Stallholder what the cheese is for (a dinner party, for example). This also allows the Stallholder to suggest cheeses that are “in season”, or that are from a particularly excellent Fromager
• The Stallholder will often ask if the guests/the buyer like cheeses that are strong in flavour or more mild, or if they have a particular preference for the type of milk (Cow, sheep, goat)
• The Frenchie will explain when the cheese will be eaten (ie tonight, or in a few days time, or over the course of a week)
• The Stallholder will then suggest a cheese/cheeses that meet the taste and milk requirements.
• The Stallholder will offer a sample of that cheese for the Frenchie to taste.
• If the Frenchie doesnt like the suggested cheese, the Stallholder will continue suggesting cheeses/giving tastes until the Frenchie rolls their eyes in rapture
• If it is to be eaten that day, the Stallholder will test the cheeses to select the one that is perfectly ripe – this is usually done by gently prodding the softer cheeses, or gently squeezing their middles. If the cheese is to last the week, then they will choose one that is just bordering on ripe, so that you can enjoy every day of the week as it ripens, ending with the perfect texture and flavour.

Of course, even if you know what sort of cheese you want to buy, you still must ask the Stallholder’s advice. For example, M loves a good Comte. So, as a special treat,  I stopped in at one of the Fromage Stallholders at our local market. He had several types of Comte available. He proceeded to present each type, their qualities and then give me a little slice to taste. I couldnt decide. I bought a slice of both. [Note: I CANNOT be trusted at the market. Another blog on my market addiction is currently being drafted. This cheese experience is a classic example of my weakness.]

So, while the Frenchie is telling the Stallholder, I want this cheese, no not that one, more like that, a little to the left blah blah blah, the queue gets longer and longer, and everyone stands and stares at the cheeses, drooling, waiting for their turn. Cheese Torture. But a fantastic selling technique: more time to view the various cheeses, more time to build up an appetite, more time to be jealous that someone else is getting taste tests and not you etc

On some of my first cheese buying experiences, I would just select whatever I thought looked good and buy a slice. I always wondered why I received a cold reception, but thought perhaps it was just my accent/lack of French skills. Now I’m starting to realise that, it’s almost offensive to select a cheese without seeking the Stallholder’s advice. It gives the impression that you know more about the cheese than the stallholder OR are just not sophisticated enough to be able to tell the difference between a good and bad cheese. Either way, you’ll sometimes get a scowl or a robotic transaction. The best way to approach the transaction for beginners? Just start with something simple like “I would like a really runny Brie” or “I would like a really strong flavoured cheese”.

And really, it’s not even necessary to go to the market to buy good cheese. French supermarkets stock a shocking amount of cheese, and even the cheaper brands are generally of a much better quality that we get in Australia.

So, what cheeses are my favourites?

Let’s put it this way – I havent yet met a cheese I didnt like.

But here are some of my favourites…..

Maroilles - This is a really stinky cheese. It comes from the far north east of France, close to the Belgian border (this is where M is from). It’s a famous cheese, in fact, with a starring role in the film “Bienvenue Chez les Ch’tis” (“Welcome to the Sticks”). It is square with an orange rind, and a camembert-like texture inside. It is such a stinky cheese that we have to seal it in a tupperware container when we store it in the fridge. Even then, everytime one of us opens the fridge door we accuse the other of farting. M makes a quiche just using slabs of this cheese and it’s delicious (Nathan – please feel free to comment). It’s also delicious melted over “pain d’epices” – a heavy french gingerbread. Another similar cheese, from the same region, is “Fromage de Bergues”. Also very delicious and stinky.

Boursin - French people will call me unsophisticated (again), but this is a long time passion of mine. You can buy it in Australia, but only the little boxes and it costs a fortune. Here I can buy the big box for a little price It’s a light (as in not dense) cream cheese, in a solid shape, but spreadable and slightly crumbly. It often comes with herbs, garlic, nuts, figs etc. It’s a cheap cheese that Frenchies spread on their stale baguette for breakfast, or as a snack – therefore not a REAL cheese, but I am just in love with it. Boursin is the brand name, and you can get the same cheese made by different brands, but nothing beats the original.

St Moret – This is another cheapie supermarket cheese, and therefore not a ‘real’ cheese according to Frenchies. It’s very similar to philadelphia cream cheese, just with a slightly higher water content. And more salt too I think. Another cheese that’s delicious spread on a baguette with a slice of tomato, salt and pepper….mmmm

Chevre - Where do I start? Goat’s cheese is enormous here. You can get goat milk, goat yoghurt, very creamy, almost liquid cheeses, solid logs of white cheese, and very hard, yellow, cheddar type cheeses. Where to they keep all those goats??? They dont give as much milk as a cow, so why isnt France covered with goats? All running down the main street, India-style? That would be so cute!….until they started nibbling on your jumper….Anyway, some Australians shy away from goat cheese, saying that it has a flavour that’s too “goaty” and powerful. Honestly, France is the best place to get the full range of flavours. I’m sure that they’d be converted. For example, a French friend living in the Bourgogne brought us a present on his recent visit to Paris. He had driven out to a local farm and bought a beautiful log of pure white goat cheese. It was quite solid, but still with some moisture. And the flavour was a cross between a delicate, slightly acidic cream cheese and that slight ‘goaty’ flavour. Yummy yum yum. Hoorah for friends bringing gifts of cheese! One of the other things that some people find a bit strange is that the softer, more spreadable cheeses are sometimes preserved in ash. No, not because the cheesemaker drank too much red wine and dropped the cheese in the ash from his cigarette (although, now that I say that, it’s probably not too far from the truth about the origin of the technique…). The ash doesnt leave an unpleasant flavour, so dont hesitate to chomp straight into it!

Epoisses - Another killer stinky cheese. Dont give your significant other a kiss after eating this one, unless they too have shoved a blob in their mouth. This is a square, orange rind cheese, with a runny centre (when properly ripe), and is therefore often sold in a wooden basket-type container to make sure it holds it shape and isnt punctured. How can you explain why something that smells so bad can taste so good? Crusty piece of baguette, lathered with liquid epoisses – brilliant. (lol – just read on wikipedia that it has reportedly been banned from being carried on public transport because it’s so stinky!)

Camembert - I have come to call this cheese “The Silent Killer”. Camembert in Australia is very mild in smell and flavour. There are some really mild French camemberts as well. But there are also some really smelly fart-like camemberts that can stink out a room in less than a minute. The problem is: you often dont know which type you’ve bought until after you get home and have let it sit in the fridge for a while. I have indeed blamed M for farting when all he’s done is open the fridge door. He blamed the camembert and I said “Yeah right, an innocuous little buttery cheese smells like a rubbish dump!”. And damn, he was right.

Reblochon - This is another favourite cheese, with multi-purposes. It  looks similar to a camembert, but has a slightly stronger, buttery flavour. It comes from the French Alps, and to be honest, the best one we have eaten, by far, is the one we bought while on a ski trip to Serre Chevalier. Supermarket brands are ok, but just pale in comparison to the delicious alpine treat. This cheese is fantastic just with a bit of baguette and red wine. But it also is a key ingredient in a fantastic French dish called “Tartiflette”. It’s a delicious variation of a potato bake: potatoes, onions, ‘lardons’ (bacon bits), cream, and a layer of sliced reblochon, all grilled in the oven. What better way to coat the inside of your arteries!

Morbier - This was the first ‘real’ French cheese I ate on my first visit to France. I managed to score a private tour and lunch at the chateau Moet et Chandon in Epernay. I happened to be seated next to a senior officer in the French secret service, who was amazingly gracious to this poorly dressed, unsophisticated little Australian. He recommended a cheese for me from the cheese platter, and I immediately fell in love with it. I asked him to write down the name of the cheese on the back of his business card so I would never forget it. It is a soft, slightly elastic cheese, with a thin layer of ash running through the middle, horizontally (although you cant taste the ash). Apparently the style came from farmers having leftover milk from the day, insufficient to make a whole cheese. They would pour it into a mould and cover it with a layer of ash to preserve it until the next day, when they would top it up from the next morning’s milk. This cheese smells bad, tastes delicious. It is nutty, slightly bitter.

Tete de Moine – This is a recent discovery. It means “Monk’s Head”. It was made originally by monks, but what it has to do with their heads, I’ve got no idea. It’s a quite solid cheese, but with lots of flavour. The novelty though, is in the way you cut it. Or rather, in the way you shave it. You basically skewer it on a metal apparatus called a “girolle”, and use a metal blade attached to slowly turn around the cheese in a circular motion. This shaves the cheese off into beautiful “curls”. Kids love the mild flavour, the novelty of turning the blade and how the cheese curls melt in the mouth. What am I saying: Yes, little kids AND big kids like me!

Mimolette - This is a very mild, hard cheese, bright orange on the inside and brown and crusty on the outside. It looks like a rockmelon. No joke. The best way to eat it is when it’s really aged, really dry, like an old parmesan. The flavour is much milder than a parmesan though. If you’re sick of stinky soft cheeses, this is the one to buy.

Comté - This is another hard cheese that knocks your socks off with delicious flavour. If you’re a cheddar lover, then I think you’ll like this cheese. It’s less “milky” than cheddar, but has a great nutty, sweet taste. Aged for 24 or 48 months and it doubles it’s deliciousness. M often has a hard time choosing between me and Comté. If he’s eating a slice, best to save the conversation for later.

St Marcellin – I’ll ask Mel to write a comment about what this cheese is like and why she loves it It’s basically a small, white, soft cheese with a runny centre, perfect for lathering over a baguette. It’s larger sister is called Saint-Félicien.

OK, so even if I am still getting used to being more sophisticated in my cheese selection, one thing I do ask of my dining companions is how the cheese should be cut. It’s just a common courtesy for those who may eat from the same piece (if I leave any behind that is). And there are specific rules for how certain cheeses must be cut. I always forget them though. How to cut the cheese is a minor issue compared to the main task at hand – eating.

It has been a very challenging year from that perspective. Managing my cheese intake to ensure I dont gain 1000kg is difficult in the extreme. Luckily, the French culture has saved my butt (literally) in this respect.

In Australia, cheese is (generally, and especially in social circles, as opposed to restaurant dining), more of an entree, or an appetizer. When you arrive at someone’s house for dinner, you will be greeted and promptly given a glass of wine/beer and be offered a plate of cheeses, antipasti, biscuits, dips etc. (I’m laughing at myself as I write this because the thought of eating cheese as an appetizer is making me feel odd – “eew, imaging eating a whole lot of cheese BEFORE the meal”. Oh, how I have changed….lol). This is meant to keep your hunger pangs as bay while you chit-chat away and await the main course. Of course, when you’re hungry, and there’s a plate of delicious cheese in front of you, guess what happens? You eat a tonne of cheese. Which is fantastic for the tastebuds, but not so happy for your arteries or Body Mass Index.

Thankfully, here in France the cheese platter is not offered until AFTER the main meal. AND there is a salad course and dessert to follow (usually something equally delicious). So (a) you’re not so hungry that you could eat a whole camembert and (b) you need to keep some space for the dessert deliciousness that is to follow. Naturally, cheese intake is kept to a minimum – just enough to appreciate the flavour.

[OK, time to be honest. I ALWAYS forget that there is a cheese course and end up eating a full entree and main. During the elation that results from the presentation of a gorgeous cheese platter, I ALWAYS forget that there is a salad course and dessert to follow. I just dig in with reckless abandon (and ignore everyone staring at the amount of cheese I've served myself - I hope they think that I skipped lunch or something and that's why I'm so "hungry"). I think this is where French people manage their weight better than some other countries: they are used to eating smaller meals because there is just no way you can finish a full French dinner with a full entree, full main etc. They learn from a young age to control their portion sizes.]

But of course, while there are rules about how to cut cheese, how much to eat, when to eat it etc, in the end, cheese is just there to be eaten. So I say: eat it however, whenever and in whatever quantities you like!