What Got Me Really Excited at My Market Today
You might think it was these gorgeous, glowing yellow limes…
…which I’m not sure what I’m going to do with, but their sweet-tangy juice might make a refreshing summertime sorbet.
Or a batch of frosty Mojito Granita?
It wouldn’t be a stretch to think it was coming home with a just-roasted poulet crapaudine, a chicken rubbed with herbs, spices, and a generous amount for salt, which seasons the crackly skin. I’m always wary about buying a whole one, since I’m certain I’d eat it all by myself—in one sitting.
(Not that I’ve ever done that. But I’ve heard about people that do.)
I was thrilled to find these glowing little Campari tomatoes…
Whenever the producteur has them, during the height of summer, I nab as many as I can. Over the next few days, I’ll be eating them simply dressed, with lots of shallots and fresh chives.
And speaking of fresh herbs…
I’m still on my basil-bender, and when the bunches of basil are so fragrant you can smell them a few meters away, it takes all the restraint one can muster just to bring home one beautiful, leafy bunch.
And you might think it was these finger-length cucumbers…
…which I am fairly sure are destined for another batch of homemade kosher dill pickles…if I don’t eat them all first!
So what was it in my crowded market basket that so excited me?
At 20 centimes a bottle (…er…carafe?), at the risk of completely embarrassing myself, a wave of nostalgia hit me. And as I plucked one from the box at the wine merchant, and handed him a few coins, I wondered what would possess someone to import American rosé into France.
(And one that’s not exactly our best effort, either.)
I can’t decide whether to open it, or if I’ll just keep it for the memories. Sure the little carafe might come in handy, like mine did during college, doing double-duty as a holder for a wilted branch of ivy, one I had hopes of planting in actual soil but never got around to, or for decanting wine from a much (much) larger jug, one from an equally prestigious vineyard.
But if, and when, I do, I’m confident it’ll be exactly as I remember. The cap assures me, “We will sell no wine before its time”, which probably confounded too many Parisians, and may explain the sub-priced surplus.
But I kinda doubt it.