Thursday, September 11, 2014

Before the wine, there was the market.

This past Sunday, before ending our weekend of wine tasting at the Thoiry Salon des Vins, we spent time at our town's weekly outdoor market.

The Thoiry Market is one of my favorite things about living where we do, and we've been making an effort to get to it each week, as we did before I was pregnant. 

A few of the vendors have changed over the years, but most have stayed the same. The wicker basket maker still speaks to me in long and fast French while we barter, blowing smoke from her cigarette in my face, even when I tell her I only understand a little French (and not at that speed). Didier, the man with the chicken stand, sometimes offers us some wine while we wait in line for eggs. The flower lady never charges us enough, and sometimes not at all. Our olive guy is always busy but kind. The husband and wife who run the cheese stand have named us "The Lovers," and the husband often sings to us. The guy with the book stand always has an assortment of used Agatha Christie books in French, mixed in with some more scandalous fare. The guy who sells the nettle cheese will always try to get us to come over for a taste, though we never do. The guy who yells a lot has the best strawberries. He always always does. 

Every Sunday it's the same, and we love it. Thoiry's market isn't as large as some of the neighboring markets, like Ferney-Voltaire or Divonne, but it's our market. It's small, like our town. It's cozy, like our town. It's kind of like the "Cheers" of France: if you go enough everyone will know your name, or at least, your order. 

I'm looking forward to fall's upcoming crisp days at the market. I'd much prefer being bundled up for the 2+ mile walk to and from, to sweating while lugging back our groceries. There's something about coming home from the market with flushed cheeks, after following your breath for a mile, that makes my heart happy. Putting the kettle on to make some coffee while we prep brunch, opening up a bottle of wine to accompany it, while watching the chill grow outside, it's just my favorite way to celebrate a Sunday. 

What's your favorite way to celebrate a Sunday?

A la prochaine friends...


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