Lunch time

It's lunch time here in Santa Maria, and being hungry (and without lunch) I thought I might share a few pictures on the theme of Parisian food. Anyone who has only experienced American supermarkets will find the process of shopping in Paris to be quite an eye opener. In the states we tend to hide where our food came from (at least until there's a salmonella recall). Our steak comes wrapped and packaged and looking in no way bovine. Good luck even identifying what's in our hotdogs. In France you know what you're getting. The first picture is a bit blurry, but it presents a rabbit (lapin) opened up, with it's liver, heart and kidney presented on its ribs. The second picture shows a series of chicken (poulet) hanging from the shop window, adorned by their lovely red feathers, looking nothing like the frozen bag of chicken wings we got from Costco for Superbowl Sunday. I love escargot, but I've got to admit that it's easy to pretend that they are nothing more than little spongy garlic butter foodstuffs, until you're faced with the dish of shells or, better yet, the wonderful storefront for L'escargot Montogueil, the best known Parisian escargot restaurant. I love not only the giant golden snail, but also the smaller ones climbing across the store front sign, looking for all the world like the ones crawling through my back yard garden. The last picture is of a disappearing French tradition, the horse butcher. I don't know if I could eat horse, knowing how smart they are and how each has his own personality, and I've read that the market for horse meat is shrinking in Paris, as well. The few remaining places where you can buy horse meat, though, don't try to hide what they do. There's a certain honesty in French cuisine that I admire, although it requires pushing beyond my own cultural predilections.