To Market, To Market To Buy A Fat Poule

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There is enough garlic here for the entire town.

We had planned our vacation not only as an indulgence, but also as a learning experience. That is why we found ourselves in the second-floor meeting room of Le Cordon Bleu on our second day in Paris. We were with eight other Americans from all corners of the United States taking a day-long class at the revered institution at 8 Rue Léon Delhomme, a short street tucked into an undistinguished neighborhood. We expected “Marchés de Paris,” or Markets of Paris, to teach us the ins and outs of shopping in the wonderful open-air markets that are traditional around the country.

The day began at 8:30 as we gathered with our classmates for coffee and croissants, exchanging names and getting comfortable with each other. We were comrades with a common interest in the arts culinary. The conversation was lively as we discussed our places of origin — the wilds of Alaska, the Outer Banks, San Francisco, Delaware, New Jersey and Vero Beach.

Read the entire article in the November 2003 issue

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