Читать книгу Our House is Certainly Not in Paris - Susan Cutsforth - Страница 19

At home, supermarket shopping is not one of our favourite pastimes. When I do the weekly grocery shop, I tend to virtually run down each aisle, sharply swing the trolley into the next and throw the always predictable items into the trolley at great speed. I never linger and I never select new items. I play a little game with myself and time my once-a-week grocery shop from parking the car, to leaving the car park.

Nevertheless, while in Cuzance, even this usually mundane task takes on a new ritual and new dimension. Our local Intermarche is on the outskirts of Martel. It is one of the few drives that I can manage alone. However, we usually go together to share another part of our French life. We already have our favourite French items and brands that we buy each week. We don’t just like French butter – we love it! The one we always choose is in red and white checked wrapping while our favourite yoghurt is Bon Maman. There is a Bon Maman range of compote that we also buy in our village of Thirroul where we shop at home. I find this quite amazing the way our two lives sometimes connect.

Once we discovered the chocolat mousse with this label, well, that became virtually an essential purchase each week. The list of treats seems to be ever-increasing.

Each week we aim to sample a new cheese as well as try to remember the names of all the fromage we have liked before. As I wait at the deli counter, I silently practise the names of the ones I am going to ask for. Each customer waits ever so patiently.

We have certainly learnt though, just like the world over, never to shop on a Saturday morning, especially when tourist season is in full swing. Each customer is greeted in turn with a courteous, ‘Bonjour Madame, bonjour Monsieur.’ No one is ever rushed. If a sample is required before buying, it is politely proffered. While our supermarché is relatively small, there are still enormous wheels of soft camembert and huge wedges of harder, tasty fromage. The women behind the counter are immaculate in their crisp white uniforms, hair neatly tucked beneath their starched white caps.

In the larger supermarché in Brive, there are enormous displays of fresh fish, with cool jets of moist air gently spraying them. It is to Carrefour we head when we need extra items for our petite maison, such as the little white wrought iron table and chairs for our porch. However, there are some surprises too in store sometimes when we shop.

Sometimes there are unexpected challenges in actually finding what we want. At times like these, logic does not come into play. On the rare occasions we need to buy confiture when our friends have not given us gifts of jam from their pantries, we have to remember that it is for petite déjeuner and so is on the shelves with the coffee, tea and sugar – because jam is what you eat for breakfast. Similarly, apéritif snacks initially proved to be baffling to find. Right; pretzels, chips and savoury biscuits are in the extensive alcohol aisle. There is in fact a sense of logic after all, for this is what you serve with a drink before dîner.

And then there is the wine. Like with many French customs, I try to learn by quietly observing. I watch as wine on the highest shelf is reached for and surmise it is for a special family occasion. I learn too, that just like anywhere, even in France, that the rosé on special is not necessarily the best available. Stuart also picks up a little trick for buying French wine. If the space on the shelf only has a couple of bottles left, he follows the lead of the French and scoops up the few remaining ones. He reasons that it must be a popular purchase to be virtually depleted and therefore, a wine worth buying. This technique certainly seems to work, for it has lead us to sample quite a few interesting bottles at a reasonable price. Well, perhaps more than a few...

Then there are the tubs and tubs of brightly coloured containers all lined up in the refrigerator section that present a staggering number of desserts. In this, the land of tantalising, sumptuous patisserie treats, it astonishes us that there is such a vast array of packaged desserts. When we have been invited to an informal dinner with friends, it is customary to serve a crème caramel or île flottante from the supermarché. We too, when friends stay, have sometimes adopted the custom and offer our beloved chocolat mousse.

It is truly so delicious that I’m tempted to carefully place it in a small glass dish and pass it off as my own.

A feature of our supermarché is that you have a discount card. However, like many other elements of life in France, its use is somewhat perplexing. We present it every time we shop, yet we never get a discount. This is very puzzling, particularly so when we buy our outside mosaic table and four chairs for a significantly reduced price. This leads Stuart to having a number of conversations at the information desk, in his attempts to find out how we activate our discount. finally, he understands that the card must always be presented at the outset of the transaction to receive the discount when you are paying. Next time we will do this. If it was up to me to glean how this works, clearly there would never be a discount for us. Oh yes, my French is still lamentable.