Garden of my dreams

I'm not the only one talking about him these days, but the stuff that comes out of Joel Thiébault's garden is worth mentioning over and over again.

A couple of weekends ago a friend and I decided to check out the President Wilson market in the 16th. We got up early that Saturday morning, met at the Alma-Marceau metro, and woke ourselves up over noisettes* at a table on the sidewalk, just down the block from where the market began.
The sky threatened rain, as it has done every day for the last couple of weeks. What can you do but constantly carry an umbrella and get on with your life?

The market was quiet-- it's August and many of the vendors spots stood empty. We wandered through rather nonchalantly until suddenly it was like the clouds parted and the sun shone down on this one booth, like a spotlight. From a short distance away I stood with my arm extended and my finger pointing.
"Look!"
Our feet propelled us forward in a hurry and our conversation turned into a jumbled flurry of "oh my god", "check this out", "what the heck is that" and a great many oohs and ahhs.
You may think I'm exaggerating, but my heart was a thumpin'.

Let me try to paint a visual picture for you.
Tomatoes, in all shades of red, orange, yellow and green.
Big bundles of yellow carrots, the dirt still clinging to them.
Golden beets resting plump and firm beside crisp bundles of swiss chard with stems of red or orange, or yellow.
Herbs piled so high, and smelling so fragrant--many of them I did not even recognize.
Not to mention the peppers, the eggplant, the leafy greens..

All of this, grown in a garden, just outside of Paris.
It doesn't get much better than that.

With our bags full of vegetables, suddenly the rest of the market held little interest. We both went back to our respective apartments, happy as clams, our minds racing with what we would do with our new treasures. I trudged happily through the metro with a big bundle of lemon verbena poking out of my bag, leaving a trail of lemony scent behind me.
I got home, laid my bounty on my counter and gazed at it with wonder and awe.
That week I ate like a queen.
My heart still thumps just thinking about it.
And yes, I will be going back.
Often.




President Wilson market
on President Wilson avenue between Alma-Marceau metro and Iéna metro
Wednesday and Saturday mornings.
Check Clotilde's post for further info on Joel Thiébault.

*noisette --an espresso with a shot of milk in it.