Approaching le camion pictured above, I was stopped by the sight of the enormous cat sitting in line as if patiently waiting his turn. As the image may not do justice, this unassuming gray Tabby dwarfed most of the dogs being led about the market, especially one foolishly curious Cocker Spaniel who lacked the girth and "fire" to challenge, being dismissed with a firm swipe of paw before the cat resumed his place beside the glass cases. Such a presence in line, I felt compelled to defer to him when the butcher greeted me with a warm "Salut!". Didn't want to step on any "toes". Perhaps sensing this, the butcher's wife and he laughed, explaining his "l'ami de marché" status. He'd be getting his later.
With a big Sunday meal set for the next day, I was happy to find a large pork shoulder to braise, and had to have some of the fresh goose rillette that was already going fast, even at this early hour. Now, it was on to the bones, and great discussion was had between us as to which kind of bones were preferred. Clarifying them not to be for for braising (i.e. lamb bones for Osso Bucco), but instead for roasting, beef was the call. By now, a line had formed mostly of housewives who asked how we would cook it, and what was the accompaniment. One very small woman a few spots down the line, clutching her housecoat to the morning's chill, asked eagerly if there was more, as she'd be making pot au feu, adding that the marrow would be stirred in to finish. He assured her by producing one for each of us, along with a large hack saw, then went to work. (Most trucks are without the luxury of an electric meat saw, and for this reason he'd be offering me only the large bone as opposed to neat little servings.) He did provide the logical step of cracking it with a mallet, making it easier to pry open once done roasting.All was done in quick fashion, the dialogue popping, the market pace increasing. They worked well together, the butcher and his wife, he handling the product and she the wrapping and the "bank". When I mentioned that she hadn't charge for the "bones", they both stopped, smiling broadly, and echoed quite simply, "You don't charge for bones." This began a ripple through the line, "Never charge for bones."; "You can't charge for bones."; "No, no, no charge for bones." Humbled by the gift, my face a smiling wash of pink, I thanked them both, turning to bid the ladies a "Bonne journée".
Caught Katie beside the rickety table of an organic farmer whose produce we prize, as he was sheepishly saying how his wares had lost their beauty with the coming of Autumn. She'd bought some lettuce and some of what would be the last of the season's tomatoes. Hearing of the pork shoulder, she added root vegetables (turnips, carrots, etc.), some small potatoes, and a large batch of brussel sprouts.It was no surprise to hear that she'd picked up some oyster's (Selecting some that were small and plump, reminding me of Chelsea Gem's from coastal Oregon.), but La Madame had also insisted she take a few handfuls of something... like a clam, but... Well, not. Known as Petoncles, they were firm like a clam, but with a clean briny finish; a good balance to the creamy oysters as we would find out later at dusk. With that we ducked into Le Centrale for a café creme, croissant, and some warmth before heading back out into the coming day. (Recipes on request.)
Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com
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