I’ve joked that I feel most myself cradling a loaf of bread while walking through the markets, but it’s not really a joke
I’d often felt the markets had failed to live up to their promise.
There’s a scene in Julie & Julia, where Meryl Streep, embodying food writer Julia Child, breezes through a row of Parisian street stalls. Overwhelmed by the offerings – cured pigs heads hanging from hooks, a literal tower of cheeses – she holds her hand to her chest, before clutching a pile of fresh parsley and getting high off the herbaceous supply. The produce is bountiful, spilling from wicker baskets, and the stallholders are all in good spirits, throwing their arms up with delight whenever Meryl so much as glances in their direction. The scene is pure Hollywood, a Nora Ephron fairytale and yet, to me, always represented the quintessential market experience – simple yet pretentious, indulgent yet wholesome.
Continue reading...from The Guardian http://bit.ly/2R5VXpl
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