Les poires et les pommes

by jemma margaret

At the end of summer 2011, as I rather dolefully packed up to head north for Vancouver my parents asked me if there was anything I was excited about returning to (probably they had better grammar than to end with a preposition, but so goes paraphrasing).

After a bit of thought I replied, “flour and water.”

I have been lucky to have lived in three cities with far above average tap water (Paris, unfortunately, not being one of them). Vancouver’s farmer’s market also boasted a reasonably priced and quite delicious local flour mill, who in the following year even delivered free (the free part may have been an accident) to my apartment (unfortunately, they arrived just as I was burning some potstickers…).

For fairly obvious reasons, I do not bake bread in Paris. However, after a few days of fighting a nagging head cold and homesickness, I have found a couple persuasive arguments for being excited about the coming half-year.

No, not museums and butter, nor cheap wine and opera, nor even bridges and oysters–though as you see the list could go on–but rather the pears and apples from Picardie. In particular, the conférence and the belles de picardie. Both now crunchy and flavorful and hopefully will remain so through the end of March when things start growing on trees again.

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