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Market Day

The square was alive with activity as patrons perused products and vendors worked quickly to fill orders. People pointed and called out what they wanted. Color burst from everywhere, deep reds and greens from the fruits and vegetables, pinks and oranges from the flowers sprouting out of their tall display canisters, blues and yellows in the scarves that hung over clothing racks, and purples and browns from the antique furniture re-upholsterers displaying examples of their work. The Parisians had come prepared, with bags over their shoulders and baskets on wheels. The aisles were narrow and my toes narrowly escaped being run over by overzealous older ladies with their carts trailing behind them.

Bio stands for biologique. If you see a green square with an AB (agriculture biologique) written in white, with two leaves over the B, or just a leaf in a green square made of stars, this is the symbol for “organic.” Delighted, I quickly walked over...

I love vegetables. While some may long to quench a craving for chocolate, or macaroons, I was buoyant with glee when my pursuits resulted in broccoli. How fun this was, to buy food fresh, outside. I hated regular supermarkets with endless aisles of processed and frozen junk packaged in colorful boxes designed to trick the buyer into thinking the product was “healthy and good for you!” when really it had about as much nutritional value as drywall...The refrigerator was mini in my apartment for a reason: Food was not intended to last for weeks at a time. Buy it fresh, eat it fresh.

I adorned my plate with fresh lettuce, ripe tomatoes, and crisp cucumber, preparing everything on the tiny counter space I had available between the sink and toaster...I also steamed some broccoli and cauliflower, my meal comprised of a garden-fresh array of healthy food.

I poured some wine..., sitting at the tiny wooden table adjacent to the window, which when folded out allotted just enough space to fit the two plates and a glass of wine.


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