Market day

Just a brief update to the blog, because I have just finished lunch. It comprised nearly all the items I bought at the market I went to today. This market is held twice a week in Luxembourg, normally in the Place de Guillaume. I was foxed slightly to arrive and find the square full of temporary restaurants (I think – perhaps a Lux reader will be able to provide more specialised knowledge).

So, having already got it wrong about the buses in a Saturday and obliged Dearly Beloved to leave work and take me into the Gare, from where I caught a bus to the La Ville Haut, I regrouped, had breakfast of  croissant and pain chocolat, and walked up to the Glacis  where the market was well into its working day.

What a treat. It’s so exciting, going to the market in Luxembourg. It’s always a guess which language the stall holder will greet you with initially and it’s fantastic to be able to buy local produce which could come from any of four countries. I breathed in the smell of the fresh roasted chickens, and resisted the sausages, on the grill. 

At this time of year, the plant sellers have taken up most of the central pitches, and so the ground is covered with bright orderly rows and squares of geraniums, busy lizzies, all types of herbs and, interestingly enough, hundreds of baby lettuce plants. Bunches of flowers are set out in groups of colours, with white and pale green tulips progressing along the ranks to episcopally purple peonies. I bought three huge hydrangeas, white tinged with lime green and blue – the elderly gentleman made no fuss about separating the blooms I waned from the bunch, and then wrapped the stems carefully in cellophane so that I could carry the home without them dripping into the rest of my shopping.

The best way to shop is to join a queue, on the basis that local knowledge points the way to the best produce. Hordes of people were gathered round the fruit and vegetable stall, where huge punnets of strawberries gave off their summer scent. I listened to the conversations around me and gathered that these were grown by the stallholder who had brought them in from Belgium that morning. They were plump and irresistible – two punnets went into the bag, along with a dark green cucumber, still spiky from the vine, and crisp haricots verts. The prettiest white cauliflower followed, its curds as curly as the child Shirley Temple. Woodland honey, dark and viscous, from the tiny German stall on the corner and dark chewy “dreikorn” bread from the Eifel region.  A French stall sold Greek salads drenched in olive oil and herbs, to which I added sundried tomatoes with basil and pitted olives with oregano. And because I tasted it and loved it, some sharp and robust Luxembourgish goats cheese.

We have now eaten the Greek salad, gasped at the tang of the cheese, chewed the fragrant sundried tomatoes and devoured nearly a whole punnet of strawberries. Dearly Beloved has gone for a lie down.

Bon Appetit.