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A year in a French market: Recession in Paris?

By Ann | February 18, 2009

Fear not, despite this blog’s title “Cooking the Books,” and all the references to the “market” and “recession” we are not dipping into weighty matters of the economy. For one thing, I don’t understand economics. 

But shopping in the Boulevard Raspail market these past few weeks, and walking by all the empty stalls, I couldn’t help but wonder: Has the recession hit Paris? Don’t get me wrong — Sundays are still packed. But Sunday is the ritzy-glitzy incarnation of the Raspail market, the self-proclaimed bio, or organic market, which gives rise to lots of beautiful, but overpriced produce — and tourists. Aside from one vegetable stand and some stalls that sell prepared foods, I try to avoid the Sunday Raspail market.

But Tuesdays and Fridays? That’s when the locals come out with their wheeled carts to buy a bit of fish for supper, a wedge of special cheese, a bunch of carrots, a kilo of apples. It’s when my favorite vegetable guy appears — the one that gives me free lemons — he’s been gone for a few weeks, but was back yesterday. (I said, “Oh, vous êtes retourné!” To which he replied, “Oui.” And no further explanation emerged.) 

Alas, the Tuesday and Friday market has also been looking quite sparse in recent weeks, with many vendors — am hazarding an estimate of about 20%? — missing. Gone is the Chinese roast chicken seller, the insane canned truffle purveyor, the sweater seller. When I peer out my window for a bird’s eye view of the market, I see holes — lots of them. Perhaps it’s the cold weather (though the market was full until January), or the February school holidays. Or perhaps they, too, are bored with swiss chard, potatoes, leeks, and cauliflower? Whatever the case, I hope they return soon (especially the roast chicken guy).

(Of course, on the flip side of the quiet street markets, are the booming restaurants. Last week, we ventured out for dinner, sans reservation, only to be turned away at three different restaurants. Three! “Desolé, complet!” said the owners, and their voices weren’t sorry, but cheerful. Maybe you’d expect these hungry crowds on the weekend — but this happened on a Tuesday.)

 

Anyway, I’m still doing my darndest to support the Raspail market, as you can see from my haul, pictured above. I made Quick Indian Cooking blogger Mallika’s aloo gobi because potatoes + cauliflower = like, totally seasonal! I also enjoyed Mallika’s spicily scrumptious kidney beans curry. My hair smelled like cumin for days, but that’s never stopped me before. These two dishes gave another twist to winter vegetables, but then again I’m lucky enough to enjoy international (and spicy) foods. I wonder if the supply of veggies like swiss chard and cabbage is exceeding the demand — that is, are vendors disappearing because their French customers are tiring of winter produce? 

Topics: A year in a French market: Winter | 4 Comments »

4 Responses to “A year in a French market: Recession in Paris?”

  1. Chris Says:
    February 18th, 2009 at 8:08 am

    I suspect the sparser markets reflect seasonal considerations, plus school vacations. The latter are staggered by geogrpahic zones in France; the roast chicken guy could reside in Zone A while the sweater person might live in Zone B. In any case, I do not envy the vendors who come out super early on cold winter mornings; they must wear 17 pairs of socks!

  2. Bob Says:
    February 20th, 2009 at 8:51 pm

    How nice to visit the Raspail market vicariously from the warmth of sunny southern Florida. I hope the empty stall spaces are due to normal changes in the pulse of the community and not to anything more dire. I remember the rotisserie chicken guy. At least the winter veggies continue to look fresh and healthy.

  3. Sharon Says:
    February 24th, 2009 at 6:30 pm

    Oh, the markets! I love the chubby eggplants!

  4. David Says:
    November 26th, 2009 at 6:11 pm

    I am new to this blog/web scene but I did want to tell you how much joy your site has brought to my soul, often we feel as though we are writing into a void.

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