it really is a fascinating difference between america and france. certainly we close some things down on sunday, like the post office – so as to keep people from going postal i imagine – and government branches and banks (we don’t want disgruntled overworked employees becoming unpatriotic or worse yet finagling our financial system). but closing down everything? can you imagine how america’s gdp would suffer if we closed the malls, the walmarts, and all the grocery stores? what would americans do if they couldn’t spend their free time wasting money at corporate chains on products they don’t need made in impoverished countries by underpaid workers!? quelle horreur… (to note, i will say the french do have this behavior as well, just not on sundays…)

but really, sundays in france are quite different. most sundays are very quiet and peaceful and for me involve either a certain degree of gastronomic creativity or outright fasting. i’m very bad at planning meals in advance and so a day without a trip to the grocery store is a rarity in my life. yesterday was sunday. too lazy on saturday to go to the market, i planned on a very dull and sober dinner of either rice and carrots or pasta and sauce. however, what i didn’t plan on was free wine, donkey petting, live caged poultry, and french folk music. such are some of the many wonderful surprises one stumbles up on living in france!

yesterday turned out to be the annual autumn artisans market where you could buy handmade local wool products (itchy sweater anyone?), sample bison terrine and pigeon paté (raised proper, made proper, tasted proper), and, god bless france, drink free wine -all to the tune of french singing and accordions. i didn’t actually know the market was going on, but my first clue was when i was walking home from chaumont’s fabulous 19th century viaduct and spotted a horse drawn carriage slowing traffic as it traversed a roundabout. now chaumont is a small town and the haute marne is indeed a rural place, but we are not quite that behind in transportation options.

i eventually made my way to the town center where we hold our wednesday and saturday farmers market. it was there that i spotted a large crowd of mostly children oohing and awing over two rather annoyed looking donkeys dressed in some sort of traditional french animal attire that resembled crocheted donkey ponchos. next to the donkeys were potted flowers and leafy vegetables for sale and on the other side of the outdoor terrace was my favorite: live caged fowl and poultry for sale. i’m not certain if these animals were for immediate consumption, home farming, eggs, or other uses that only the french could imagine, but moms with strollers, young men out of place, old men with canes and hobbling old wives meandered about glaring into the cages of the poor frightened birds and occasionally daring to stick their finger in. the best of it was the old fat lady who continuously said “cock a doodle do” (which is actually “cocorico” in french) to every bird she stopped at, even if it was a pigeon, a duck, or some other unidentifiable bird oddity.

once inside the market there were vendor booths everywhere. you could buy local honey and syrups in every flavor, black currant liquour made according to their grandmothers recipe from the early 1900’s, hats, scarves, candy and cookies, and all hand made within proximity to the haute-marne. you could even buy our regionally made belgian style beer called la choue from the keg to drink on the spot or in bottles to take home. and while the bison terrine and pigeon paté were both fascinating and disturbing in appearance, it was the regional winemakers that piqued my interest. it took me wondering around a bit and standing intently at booths before i got up the nerve to ask for a taste. unlike in america, where you would be offered a taste upon approaching and looking interested, in france the custom seems to be to ignore as much as possible. for as long as i would stand at their booth looking at their wines, pamphlets, and having a staring contest with their sample glasses not once was i offered a taste. eventually i gave up hope that they would ever just pour me some and hand it to me, and finally i made eye contact with the kind lady and asked her if i could taste her champagne. she cordially poured me a taste of delicious haute-marne brut followed by a taste of the brut reserve. both were outstanding. at 12-14 euros a bottle these were by far some of the best champagne values i’ve ever had, or even imagined existed. they were supple, perfectly balanced, toasty and wonderful. on top of that they were made nearby from a small producer probably not even heard of outside the region. sure champagne of the haute-marne doesn’t have all the flash, glamour, and advertisements with anorexic super models the grand marques of reims and epernay have, but it has something large world renowned wineries often lack: heart.

i finished my tasting and as i was buying a bottle of deliciously affordable champagne the couple standing next to me began to inquire about my camera. was it good, how was the lens, did it need to have such a wide angled lens, and should he buy one. responding in foreigners french prompted the question “with such a big camera and an accent you must be a journalist!” “no, not a journalist, just an english language assistant with a big camera” i replied. i then paid for my champagne, thanked the lady, said good day to the couple, and left in search of more wine samples. i eventually was overwhelmed the crowd, the need to ask for samples, and got hungry and so i made my way home to make my uninspired sunday dinner and resist the temptation to open the champagne i bought. fortunately i did resist, and although the pasta was a bit bland, the sunday itself was good and not bland at all…

Sincerely,
Jessica

with most of my departure preparations complete (save buying booze for frenchies, cleaning car/bedroom, and packing), i have widdled my life down it’s simplest: food. i feel like i’m spending most of my time these days planning what foods i need to consume before i leave and where i must consume them. i’ve already tackled two of portlands best restaurants, sel gris and pok pok, but others remain. friday afternoon is navarre and friday night is laurelhurst market, and then of course, there’s the attempt to compensate for the lack of mexican food i’m about to experience. that is something my soul and stomach will dearly miss…

oh and then there’s the family dinners that must occur several times before i go. where in this will i ever manage to keep my bank account topped up so i can repeat all this self indulgence in france? god knows, hopefully i can tutor some kids in france to add onto my meager assistant wages.

so what has my stomach been digesting lately?

pok pok: eggplant salad, fermented pork ribs, spicy fruit salad, corn/ham salad, duck egg coconut custard all paired with a couple fine singhas

sel gris: pork terrine, squid and orange salad, fig salad, scallops, duck (with foie, oh my!) and of course cheeses (the brutal blue really is brutal, but delicious too!). thank you mr mondok for being so superb with your cheffing skills! all paired with well, where to begin? bubbly gamay to die for, loire valley chenin blanc, fiano, italian carmenere, and an 19 year old fortified grenache. yum! (oh, and a pbr at home for dessert – just for good measure!)

at home: tomatoes are abundant on our porch right now so i’ve been trying to eat as many as possible. most recently i’ve been making pasta with roasted corn and tomatoes, butter and herbes de provence, and topped with fresh mozarella. mmmmm summer goodness. i’ve also been eating a lot of persian salad lately (thanks kate and frank!): tomatoes, onion, cucumber (preferably english), lemon juice, salt, and olive oil.

all of this begs only one question. ok actually two. what will i eat next? and why am i writing about this at 9 am?