Bon Marché

I didn’t visit any 16th Century castles or world-renowned French monuments this weekend. Instead, I stayed in Angers. That is not to say that my weekend was unworthy of a new post. Quit the opposite. Quite the opposite, indeed.

Every Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday morning there is a market at different squares/parks/places around the city. There are possibly markets on Monday and Friday mornings that I am unaware of. The big market, however, is on Saturday morning. And is it an experience.

Saturday’s market is located near the centre-ville at the Place du Géneral Leclerc (Wikipdeia tells me he was instrumental in ending WWII – more on French street names and the like later), about a 10 to 15 minute walk from my house. On every day except Saturday morning, this Place is a parking lot. Once a week, however, it becomes a fresh produce paradise.


The colors were pretty remarkable. The past few times I’ve been, I noticed an awful lot of orange citrus (oranges, clementines, etc.) and kiwi fruits. The French really like kiwi fruit. This week, there were a lot of strawberries. The season must be around now.

Aside from the citrus and strawberries, there is a pretty good selection of nearly any fruit you can think of. Well maybe not any fruit, but the basics are covered and then some.

Not in the mood for fresh fruit? How about dried fruit and nuts or some olives?


We are in France, so let’s not forget the shallots and onions or the mushrooms (so many kinds of mushrooms).


There is an equally abundant assortment of greens and vegetables.

Fruits and vegetables. That is the bulk of the market in the Place du Géneral Leclerc. But there are a lot of people crossing the street, and it looks like there are a couple of carts set up on the sidewalk over there. I’ve got time to kill. Let’s explore.

The first thing I see is a display for kitchen tables. The second, a display for mattresses. What is going on? Who on Earth would buy a mattress at a weekly outdoor market? I guess I’ll never know. Trudging ahead, I see exactly what I came for.

WARNING: The squeamish (and vegetarians) may find the next few pictures unsettling. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Butchers. There were a lot of butchers. Most sold a combination of raw meat (cows, baby cows, pig, lamb, all kinds of animals that fly and their respective reproductive orbs, etc.) and their own concoctions (i.e. sausage – cured sausage, raw sausage, boudin – its probably best we don’t know what’s in it – and others).

By my unscientific count, I’d say there were 6-8 butchers of this caliber, and there was a line at each one.


Here we have a problem. Long lines + tiny walking paths = traffic jam. I’ve learned in these situations, you just push on through. Don’t look back if you bump into someone. Knocking someone down may merit a backwards glance (not because you are concerned about the person’s well-being, but because there is someone on the ground and that doesn’t happen very often). But don’t apologize. Never apologize in France. They will know you are American.

Just past the butchers were the seafood counters. This is pretty exciting. Look there!

Escargot. The snails are not actually green. The vendor said that they are covered with a special butter that tastes really good (I’d imagine he is a little biased, though). The far right are little snail tartlets. Now behind you!

Oysters. There were a good number of vendors who sold only oysters. (Huitres = Oysters). Over there!

The French certainly like their fish. You can buy them whole, without the head, or only the head:

Not in the fish mood? How about some shrimp? Here are some:


How fresh are these "langoustines?" Well, they are actually still alive. If you look closely, they are moving! This is too much. (I have a video or two for proof, but uploading video is a lot more time consuming than I anticipated. Just trust me here. They were alive. You would have loved it.)

Here is some sort of shellfish that I didn’t understand the French name for it. Before and during shucking:

I was sure to go by the eel counter. In the past, there has been a bucket of live eels. When asked, a surprisingly young and friendly man would pick one out of the bucket, place it a table covered in what looked like sand, take his sharpest knife/axe, and get us one step closer to dinner. Unfortunately, the bucket was sitting behind the counter this week, and asking to take a picture/video of the live eels would have been awkward (and likely impossible in French).

And no French market would be complete without cheese. Every kind of cheese you would want.

There were about eight cheese counters similar to this one with all different varieties (cow’s milk or goat’s milk or ewe’s milk; fresh cheese, aged cheese, blue cheese, and herbed cheese). And the French don’t mess around.

Say cheese.

That’s it for the food. But there is so much more to explore. The Saturday market is also a flea market. What would the French want to buy/sell at a flea market?

There were quite a few stands selling large spools of fabric. You know, for when you want to make a table clothe or drapes.

Other than that, nothing huge of note. Flea markets work the same here as they do in America. Just think of a lot of crap. All kinds of crap. Only most of the crap here is old. But not so old it is antique or valuable. Just old. Just junk: Records, old and useless books, broken china, the ugliest furniture you’ve ever seen, and more. All sold from the back of some shady, cigarette smoking, thirty-something, French guy’s truck.

Moving towards the front, I came across more legitimate inventory. Shoes and women’s clothing were hot commodities as were men’s underwear (of all things). There were a couple of stands selling games and toys, and a few more selling candy and non-perishable goods.

Finally, there were flower stands. Angers and the surrounding region (known as Anjou) are well known for their flower industry. Spring is almost here, and the flower shops and stands are getting ready. A nice little taste of spring:

And that is the Saturday market.

Let’s tell a French person, “It’s a good market.” Direct translation: “C’est un bon marché.” Only, we accidentally told them, “It is cheap,” which is also true (the prices are right) but not what we were going for. Gosh darn those silly idioms! Now you are getting a funny look. Oh well. We’ll live to speak French (and go to the market) another day.

** There is now a video of the shrimp on my facebook page. You should probably go and watch it right now.