When I lived in Paris, the market culture became part of my life without me even noticing.  I walked everywhere I went, or took the Metro, so I ended up running into markets on a regular basis.  Streets and sidewalks would be blocked off and a full market would be popped up on my daily walking routes throughout the city.

If you’re not a fan of the market, I know what you might be thinking: why bother with the waiting in line over and over and at each stall, sifting through people, carrying your things in a basket or bag.  Seems like a lot of work when you could just grab a cart at the grocery store, pick up what you want and wait in line once, when you were done.

Oh please let me change your mind!  You don’t know what you’re missing!

During my years in France I’ve become a true market lover and going to the market is one of our favourite things to do together as a family.

We now live in the South of France, where nothing is open before 10am and absolutely nothing is open on Sundays.  The market is a great way for families with young kids to get out of the house while the rest of the world is still snuggled up in their beds.  What else is open in small town France at 7:00am on a Saturday?  Nothing.

So when the weekend hits and my kids are up at the crack of dawn, we pile into the car for a family adventure at Les Halles(the market halls).  First stop: My husband needs a coffee!  He makes a bee line to his favourite coffee stand, where he can chat at the espresso bar with other early risers(usually elderly) while he waits for them to freshly grind him a bag to-go for the week.

Les Halles is an indoor market where artisans have regular stalls that are permanently in place with every fresh product you can think of: meat, cheese, fruit, veg, flowers, breads, olives, patisseries.  You name it, you can probably find it at Les Halles.

There is also a section for local farmers that do not have permanent stalls, but set up tables and stands to sell the produce that they grow in the surrounding area.  Prices are reasonable, and the food is fresh.  What’s not to love?

Once the caffeine is flowing through my husband’s veins, hunger kicks in and we all head to our favourite crêpe stand where she sees us coming and grabs a stool because she knows my daughter will want to watch her cook our breakfast.  Up onto the stool she goes, watching with the curiosity that only a three year old has, and my heart melts a little, like the butter on the crêpe pan, as I listen to my daughter switch languages to French as she carries on a conversation with the woman who has become her ‘crêpe lady’.

This is what I love about the market!  You become part of a community.  I used to skip the stalls with the long lines, and wonder why people would wait, but I now know that those are the best stalls and people are willing to stand in line for a reason!

As I cue up for the best fromage around, our ‘cheese lady’ calls my daughter over by name waving a chunk of cheese for her to sample and later she recognises that my baby has cut a tooth.  How could I not love our visits over the cheese counter?  This woman has navigated me through two pregnancies of pasteurised vs unpasteurised cheeses; she’s practically my doctor.

The culture of the market is what keeps me coming back each week.  That, and the fact that I don’t have to make breakfast because the vendors insist on feeding sample after sample to my toddler.  A piece of fruit here, a slice of ham there; that’s why she’s happy to go to the market!

And if nothing is on the agenda for Sunday; while my baby is napping, my 3 year old and I take a trip to the Sunday market because I’m hooked on Medjool dates the size of plums and just as juicy; and the best ones are at this market!  Our Sunday maché is an outdoor street market where the road is blocked off for the morning and delicious food vendors take over.

Most stands are your standard fruit, vegetables, cheese, dried salami and bread.  But they’ve also got a rotisserie chicken stand, where the dippings land on the caramelised onions below, and the roasted potatoes are calling your name!  This chicken is so good you that you have to put your name down and he’ll set one aside for you while you do your other shopping because they go quick.  You can guess what we eat for lunch most Sundays.

My daughter loves this outdoor market because she gets to bring her little purse with change to give her favourite saxophone player, who we now know is from Quebec, and always does a little dance for her when she puts money in his hat.  And according to her, the best part of this market is that the men yell at their food, “Les tomates, les tomates, 1 euro le kilo!”

And then it hit me; we’re making memories and teaching her about French culture without even realising it.  Just as I remember walking through the fair with my parents, and loving how the carnival vendors would yell at you to come and play their games; my daughters will look back and remember the excitement and action of the markets in France.

By getting to know the people that actually grow and make the food we buy, we’re one step less removed from the process.  Our kids are learning about real food, not just the kind that comes in boxes in the grocery store aisles.

So if you find yourself in France- anywhere in France.  Find the local market.  Bigger villages and cities have them every day, while in others, it’s held once or twice a week.  Just ask a local; they’ll know.  While you’re there do your best to chat with the vendors; they’re passionate about their food and that passion is contagious.  They’ll have you sampling before you know it and you’ll be sent off with cooking instructions for things wouldn’t normally dare buy.  Chances are, if you’re still around the following week, you’ll be back for more, and then the week after that too.  That’s the allure of the market.  But don’t worry, if you forget to search out a market while you’re in France, one will probably find you.