Not to mention the fresh fruits and vegetables.
Over the past few weeks, as the sun has made its appearance and the birds have started singing at ungodly hours of the morning, the produce men at the local markets have brought out a new line of foodstuffs. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's strawberry season!
Now, I am really more of a raspberry girl. However, my preferred fruit not being available, I have been known to go pretty steady with bananas, and occasionally cheat with an apple or peach. Strawberries I like but won't necessarily seek out.
After seeing these little red beauties appear over the last few weeks, however, I finally decided to see what all the fuss was about and fork over 3 euros for a little barquette.
My friendly produce man (who is about as stereotypical as they get: jolly, chatty, with dirt under his fingernails and the thickest southern accent I've yet heard) tells me as he's weighing my produce that it's starting to be strawberry season, but (waggling his finger in a knowing manner) the fruit will be better later, maybe mid-May. And, handing me a strawberry for the road, sends me off.
All I can say is that I can't imagine one single unhappy Frenchman come May. Because already, these were hands down the best strawberries I've ever had. European strawberries are smaller, more seasonal, and more flavorful than their American counterparts (I think it has something to do with not growing them in hothouses, genetically engineering them, or smothering them with pesticides. But that's just me).
I happily consumed half the container with my sandwich, the perfectly ripe fruit bringing me back to my first time in France: first stop Paris, a little room above a bustling pedestrian street which filled with a market every morning. For breakfast each day I without fail ate an entire box of fresh raspberries and a flaky croissant in the sunshine. Is it any wonder I fell in love with France?
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some strawberries to eat.
