And now that I’m warmed up I need to get the basics for lunch back at my rented apartment. A lunch I had agreed to share with a dear friend living in Toulouse. Who happens to be very knowledgeable about cheese. Something I'm not very knowledgeable about myself. Maybe I was a bit rash offering to do such a thing on day one of my stay. But, as can happen, a few glasses of wine can easily dull an acute sense of ignorance of many matters.
I cross the street and march straight into Marché des Carmes not quite in trepidation ….just yet. Shopping for fresh groceries in a packed (pre-COVID) French farmers’ market is a wondrous experience!. Marché des Carmes is not the biggest market in Toulouse but at the same time, it's a fairly large venue …and very busy. Lots of gesturing, shouting, and joking. My French is fine, for normal one to one conversations, but in this swirling setting, it's defunct. But I can gesture just fine!
Number one on the grocery list is of course the local 'fromage de brebis' (sheep’s milk cheese) Needless to say, I have to get this bit right! Being a psychologist I of course do some serious cheese research ( on my smartphone). I save the names of two classics from Toulouse that are guaranteed to wow my guest. Tomme de Carayac and Bleu de Severac. Evocative names.
I smile to myself. I take a long deep breath savouring the sounds and scents about me. And then my phone goes dead. Mais non! I shake it a few times. No good. Open the back. Take out something and put it back in again. Close it tight. Press the start button. No joy. I desperately try to remember those evocative names.....Not a chance.
But surely it can't be that hard to choose a tasty chunk of 'fromage de brebis' in this fine market? I look to the left at a beautifully laid out cheese stall. A pleasant unhurried fromagère (vendor) rearranging the produce. She catches my eye and smiles. I look to the right at an equally gorgeous cheese stall. This fromager chats to an elderly customer as he carves up a massive round slab of fromage. Hmmm.
I venture further into the market and find cheese stalls just about everywhere I look. The same types of sumptuous cheeses seem to be in most stalls. And lots of sheep's milk cheeses on offer. Hmmm.
I decide to give the market a full circle to make sure I don’t miss out on any cheese buying possibilities. I circle back to the entrance a little more stressed than on the first entry. I decide to circle back this time in an anticlockwise direction just in case. As the sheep's milk cheeses all look much the same to me I begin to see reasons not to choose a particular stall. Too perfect, too quiet, too busy, too bright, too small, too dark. Too much choice! I feel a headache coming on.
After a while, I arrive back at the entrance and look at the first stall on the left with that calm fromagère. A small steady queue, short friendly conversations with customers. I join the queue and watch the customers ahead of me take various tastings before they buy.
And then it's my turn. She smiles. I smile. I point to a puffy white fromage. She slices a sliver. I taste. Heaven. I point to another. Slice. Taste. Heaven once more. I’m in love with sheep's milk cheese. I buy 4 different chunks of Heaven for lunch. And she gives me a hefty slice of goat’s milk cheese to munch on before I reluctantly move on.
It all takes about 10 minutes and in that short time I and the fromagère build up the bones of a solid customer relationship. I return to the same stall every day that week. We never actually speak (apart from ‘bonjour’ and ‘au revoir’’). But there is clear communication, trust, warmth, confidence in quality, connection, and loyalty. And that first lunch back at my apartment is of course a huge success.