Reminiscing

I could smell the tomatoes from half a block away – at least, I think it was about half a block. With the meandering streets of a medieval fortified city around me, it could have been a kilometer away and I really wouldn’t know. All I did know, was I had to find them. And serve them.
Maybe with a little fresh cheese.
And maybe some ham? No – sausage.
Both? Yeah yeah.
And wine.
I love France.

My ritual for market day in the city of Sarlat: tea and a croissant with whomever I dragged with me 10 k into town at 830 am. Ogle at the beautiful butcher boys hawking even more beautiful fresh sausage and terrines. Wander through almost visible aromas of tomatoes, roasted beets, raw cheese, dry sausage, and almost-still-flopping Dordogne trout, planning elaborate meals for my 25 fouillers (excavators) at the archeological site I was cooking for. Head home after stuffing myself full of abovementioned sausage, cheese, fresh bread, French pizza, and whatever else found its way into my stomach. Sleep. Work. Repeat next weekend.
The meals never turned out as elaborate as I planned in my head (“You want to spend HOW MUCH of our educational grant money on cheese?!”) but I definitely learned the beauty of country-style French cuisine – so different from the French food I learned in culinary school, but possibly even more beautiful in its simplicity.