A Day At The Market In Ambert

My kitchen counter


On this, the fifth day of grey clouds, we went to Ambert, one of the cutest little towns here in the Auvergne. It is mostly known for its ancient Town Hall, the only perfectly round town hall in France. Today was market day in Ambert. If back home I was happy with the new Farmers market in Carroll Gardens, I was delighted anew at the abundance of Ambert's market. This is a real market, with incredibly great tasting produce and milk products. The stalls weave in and out of curvy small streets, framed by thirteenth and fourteenth century houses that lean so precariously that one fears that they will topple, were it not for the fact that they have leaned like this for the last two hundred years.
Over so many years summering in the Auvergne, I have some favorite farm stands. Directly across the church is a cheese vendor who sells the best "Fourme d'Ambert" I ever tasted. Fourme D'Ambert is a specialty of this region. It is a mild, creamy blue cheese. There is even a Musée de La Fourme in Ambert. Imagine a museum dedicated to one type of cheese. Yes! Only in France...
I had a lot of shopping to do today. There will be thirteen around our dinner table tomorrow. One of the guests will be Condat's mayor and his girlfriend. Since Pissis is part of Condat, he is our mayor as well. So, having come up with a menu for tomorrow evening's festivities, I was stopping at one produce stall after another. While I was busy getting all the items on my shopping list, my husband made the acquaintance of a British writer who was selling and signing a book he wrote, entitled:
" A Place In My Country: In search Of A Rural Dream." The writer's name is Ian Walthew. It turns out that he left his job back in England as marketing director of the International Herald Tribune to pursue writing. He bought a house in France two years ago and lives here full time. I am sorry I did not get to meet him, but my husband bought his book. He handed it to me just as I was buying a basket of the most perfect looking strawberries I have ever seen. Opened to the title page, I read Ian's dedication: "To Katia, hope this encourages you to abandon N.Y. City and come to France."
I wish. I think if I could, I would. It certainly would not take much to convince me. But then, what about Brooklyn, my other home?

to find out more about Ian Walthew, go to www.ianwalthew.com