Last Sunday, a little unexpectedly, I found myself in the midst of a traditional French market. The insistent shouts of the fruit-sellers, the scent of crêpes and roasting chestnuts, and the creative assembly of the simplest of merchandise, from cheeses and fruits to sausages and olives, all combined to create an unmistakably Gallic ambience. Meandering amidst the stalls, I secured a pungent sheath of smoked garlic, some olive bread, several pastries, plump red grapes, olives, a thick wedge of smoked ham and a number of cheeses. Then, satisfied with my haul… I decamped to Debenhams, and had a ...
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