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Supermarkets in France are much more tolerant of misshaped
vegetables than in the UK. We bought a basket of potatoes the other day and
only two of them would have got into Tesco’s racks, yet everyone was firm,
fresh and free of eyes. Keep Tesco potatoes a week, even in dark cupboard, and
they have eyes sprouting every which way.
Apples are ginormous, with rough, wrinkly skins in
some cases, but they taste delicious once peeled. Onions are huge affairs, but
bananas are smaller, sometimes greener and come from a French dependency whose
name I cannot recall. (I don’t do the shopping – dh does it while I stay back
at the mill with Tim, the main reason being that it is too hot to leave him in
the car while we both shop. He’d howl if we left him alone at the mill, and
though the noise isn’t going to bother anyone, we don’t like to think of him as
that stressed because we’ve left him alone in a “strange” place. So I stay and
do a general clean up or something until dh returns.)
Meat is different too. French butchers favour
different cuts, unfamiliar to us and often in much larger portions than we are
used to, with much more fat running through the flesh. I avoid the fish tanks
in the larger shops. I appreciate they keep the poor thing “fresh” but it seems
barbaric to me to point at one poor crab out of ten or so stumbling around the
bottom of a tank and condemn it to death. I’ve never bought one (and never
will) so I don’t know if they kill them or give them to you still kicking. All
in all it is just as well dh does the grocery shopping.
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