~aventures du louchette flâneurse: 28ème~

December 13th, 2009

The website says “Click the right spot and magic raccoons appear.” Marché d’Aligre, one of Paris’ most famous markets, is made up of the well-heeled, covered Marché Beauvau (since 1777) and the more democratic outdoor expanse that includes both produce hawked by shouting Algerians (un euro un euro un euro!) and a true flea market peopled with cranky flea merchants. I didn’t see any magic raccoons, but the morning was splendid.

Into my canvas sack I stuffed: lilacs, mango, avocado, pineapple–two of all of these, apparently the market is based upon a Noah’s arc blueprint–and one exquisite roast chicken. Alfonso used to drive me crazy when extolling the virtues of European produce and critters (no cook wants to hear this when serving her Brooklyn dish), but the fact is, food is just better here. Decidedly better. My chicken has terroir, apparently. What remains will go in the stock pot tomorrow, for a cauliflower and shallot soup with lots of thyme (this being what is in kitchen that wants immediate cooking).

Above is the postcard I bought from the querulous flea man, who only smiled when I handed him money, and when I back-sassed en français. ~ word of warning: notably unalive animals below. ~

Above, the drunken accordionist and the flea men who ignore him; below, further Grand Dames–one in Sunday opulence, one in training (click to admire her cigarette holder).
Meanwhile, today I learned you can ice skate on the Eiffel Tower, 150 feet in the air. Tighten those laces, Alfonso. (my favorite food snob arrives in one week)