Christmas is coming the snails are getting fat.

Ok, that's not fair. I don't pretend to know the traditional meal for Christmas day in France. Actually, the goose, or at least his liver, are probably closer to the truth. However, I have started to learn a little about the Christmas culture here in France and ohhh is it some great blog fuel.

The Marche de Noel is a French tradition that we absolutely love. Markets, in general, are a part of everday life. I've come to depend on them as a major source of our produce, cheese, meat, and fish. We make purchases at one market or another at least twice a week. So, we were exicted to hear about these christmas markets, and we were not dissapointed. Large cities like Lyon or Grenoble have Christmas markets that occur every day for over a month leading up to Christmas. Small villages, like our quaint little version, make it a grand one day affair. We couldn't wait to go this past Saturday.

The noise was the first thing we noticed. Silence or something very close to it normally dominates the place in St. Martin D'uriage. After having to park a good distance from the action, the noise led the way like a homing beacon. Music, laughter, and shouting, lots of shouting. The biggest culprits were the women selling hot drinks to their cold, damp patrons. These women were more than just boisterous saleswomen, they were also apparently part of the Quality Control department. Vin Chaud (hot wine mulled with spices) is the hot drink of choice for the winter market go-er, and these women wanted to make sure thirsty customers knew the product was safe to drink.

Another man shouted to his friend across the street, "Soup aux choux!". It means cabbage soup. I'd heard about it and this man was apparently ready for some. My fellow Nobelites and close friends know of the famous chowder. It was a very similar situation, thick vegetable soup cooked over fire, sold in bulk, and titled in such a way as to not tell the entire story of the dish. In this case, cabbage soup was probably chosen, because even in France it sells better than Pigs Feet Soup. Hooves and knuckles rested in 5 gallon buckets just below the sales counter, waiting for their turn to be the broth for the next batch of "cabbage" soup. Now, I don't know if we are becoming more French or if we'd have liked it anyway, but, later that night, the four of us wolfed down our large container, trotters and all.

A floppy hatted, apron wearing cheese man as rotund as the Gruyere wheels he was selling entertained us for the better part of 20 minutes. He looked like a character straight out of the opening scene of Disney's Beauty and the Beast. Just the slightest interest in his cheese with our strange accents had his full attention. The French love nothing more than educating we gastronomical morons. It's not done to be arrogant, mind you, but they have great food, they know it, and the love to share and discuss it. Some 20 some cheese samples heavier, but 30 dollars lighter we finally peeled ourselves away that stench I've come to love.

Ornaments, nick nacks, and the usual were also part of our bounty. Nothing too grand, save one.

This jar of eggs cost me about 30 bucks. Actually the eggs were nothing special, but rather the mysterious black lump at the bottom of the jar. That my friends, is a truffle. Not the chocolate finger treat, but the fungus native to France. The vender had larger truffles for sale without the eggs but I opted for this concoction for 3 reasons. 1) it looks cool 2) As I'm a beginner with truffles, I plan to try the simplest recipe, the truffle omelette. Supposedly these eggs soak up the truffle flavor and then can be used as the perfect vessel shaved up bits of these little treasures. and 3) The truffles in this jar are tiny, meaning they have less mass, meaning they cost less, meaning I can afford them. At 500 Euros/kilo, I figured I'd start small. I'll let you know if it was worth it.

I've spoken quite a bit about the wine culture here. It's simply part of the lifestyle. When you go to a restaurant, almost everyone has wine. Whether it's moderation or developed tolerance, I'm not sure, but in the U.S. I encounter less alcohol and more drunks. In fact, since we've been here I can't recall seeing anyone that appeared to be intoxicated, that was until Saturday. After leaving the market we had to drive right through town, which was essentially through the middle of the market. Our friendly vin chaud saleswoman had obviously continued sampling the goods. As we inched our way through town, we saw her shouting in the middle of the street, steaming cups in hand. She had apparently decided that her target market extended to passing motorists. I respectfully declined. Seulement en France.

A green Christmas? Most of you know that Europe is much "greener" than the U.S. Recycling, energy conservation and other such methods are a way of life here, not just a novelty to make you feel good about yourself. We opted to take part in one such custom at our local IKEA. We went on Sunday (open only due to a Christmas time exception) to purchase our Christmas tree. It cost 20 Euros, but if you return it after the season, you get 19 Euros back in store credit. In turn, they turn the trees to mulch and sell it. Actually a great idea. The only down side is that the trees are alread wrapped up and can't be selected on asthetic criteria. You can judge the height, but that's it. It's an early Christmas surprise. Ours? It's crooked, lopsided, extremely thin, and absolutely beautiful.

That's about it for now, but I'm sure I'll have even more to write about as we near closer to the 25th. A bientot!