Going to the Marche or Being taken at the Market

My Mother-in-law, Claude is visiting with us this week and was anxious to visit the local marche with me, since I do the bulk of the food buying and cooking. This was my second trip to the market and I was determined to do it like a pro since my first visit was very haphazard and somewhat wasteful. Also, having an audience always helps make me perform better. I had planned my menus, made my list and kept an open mind as to what I might use as substitutes depending on what was good fare at the stalls. All went swimmingly well.....and then came the CHEESE LADY.

Last week the CHEESE LADY had charmed me into trying several thousand gouter of cheese made by young sheep. I have no idea how these animals have been trained to do this. Along with having eaten every type of this variaty of cheese known, my son Declan also made an impression by consuming a large quantity of the more mild version, all given freely by the cunning CHEESE LADY. This week I made a return visit to the stall to see this seemingly charming person with Declan in tow, took but 1(one) taste of cheese allowed Declan the same and then cheerily went on my way; cheese WAS NOT on the shopping list. At some point Declan parted company with me, asking to walk with his beloved Niclo. Later he went to look around with his mother(also beloved). Only after joining up with the other adults did it become apparent that Declan and the CHEESE LADY were in cahoots! It seems that Declan made trips with each of the adults to see the sweet hearted purvayor of fromage, either by design or luck. On each trip the CHEESE LADY, recognizing him, filled him with cheese.

Guilt set in.

After two weeks of free cheese I felt compelled to buy something from this lover of cheese and provider to my child. "Oui Madame, a chunk of cheese please, the kind my son adores." "Oh, hand made by young sheep in the mountains, how interesting." said I( my understanding of all the French spoken to me is at least a little suspect. "Not the whole wheel of cheese no, a little smaller; a little smaller still; all right then that size will do nicely." Along strolls Helene, possibly also feeling weighed down by cheese guilt and pipes up "I think I'll get a piece of the older version, more flavour." My sizeable chunk, still unpriced but wrapped, sits on the scale. "no, not the whole wheel, just a piece."says Helene. "smaller still; oh all right then that will be fine." Madame CHEESE LADY smiles sweetly. She finishes her discourse on how young sheep give their lives over to the art of making this delicacy and utters the first French that I completely understand.......37 euro S.V.P.

Being only 10 days into a 4 month trip to this fine country and wanting to prove wrong Helene's prediction that I will be kicked out of the country within the first two weeks, I picked my jaw from the ground and handed over the equivilent of 50$CDN for two hunks of cheese I didn't really want in the first place.

Oh, and how did mum-in-law think I managed myself at the Marche? She didn't say, she was too busy recounting her tale of how much the gift of cheese cost that she just purchased for us since Declan liked it so much and the CHEESE LADY thought her grandson was so adorable.