Markets at the heart of French fare

Our food markets have nothing on their French counterparts, which offer better fare than at Michelin-starred restaurants, writes Brian Johnston.

In France, the best hours you can spend are at food markets. Give in to your inner stickybeak. Find a seat on a bench or church step and people-watch. Sniff your way around the stalls. Inspect the produce.

Nowhere else provides better insight into the French nation’s habits and desires, indulgences and regional differences.

Go early if you want to avoid crowds. Just before lunch is peak time. Abandon any notion of diet. Get your morning croissants or baguette, and your roast chook or sandwiches for lunch. Get tarts and eclairs, and punnets of strawberries for afternoon tea. The best meals you will have in France won’t be from Michelin-starred restaurants but cobbled together from markets.

The name, price and origin of the produce is usually chalked on small blackboards or written on cardboard. Out-of-season produce might come from overseas, but who cares; Moroccan oranges are delicious.

Other produce is very local. A sign that says ‘‘producteur’’ indicates a local grower or farmer. Their stalls are often less polished and sell only one or two products, but you can bet if someone is selling just one type of pear or pie then it is bound to be lipsmacking.

At a cheese stall, in contrast, variety is the temptation: goat and sheep, round and square, soft and aged, dusted with ash or bathed in oil. Some French cheeses are truly decadent, such as the camembert stuffed with mascarpone and apples marinated in Calvados brandy that you see

in Normandy. Choose random cheeses you have never heard of (Trou du Cru, Bleu de Termignon, Sainte Maure) and you will be well rewarded. The stereotype of French unfriendliness is nonsense, most of all in country towns where markets thrive. A polite greeting – tackled in French for bonus points – goes a long way, and a thank you and goodbye is expected too.

Market vendors can be chatty or, if you have no common language, at least smiley.

There is no sense of rush, even when queues form. Pack away your big-city impatience. Vendors will happily explain to customers how to eat, cut, cook or otherwise best enjoy their goodies. They chat to retirees about their aches and grandkids.

You don’t visit a French market just to shop, so what’s the hurry? Enjoy the aromas of blue cheese and pork crackling, the warmth of the sun and clang of church bells, the sense of community and camaraderie.