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This has nothing to do with the pictures I'm posting today, but I wanted to mention it. A few days ago, I went over to the Intermarché supermarket on the other side of the river from our house. I had just a few little things to pick up — a couple of ripe avocados, a package of Mexican tortillas, a head of broccoli, some cheese, some tomatoes and some eggs. As I was walking through the frozen foods section of the store, I noticed a young woman, maybe 20 years old, stocking a freezer where frozen vegetables are kept. For a while, I'd had a question for the people who stock that part of the store, so I asked her. Do you know where I can find some frozen blettes? I'd like to buy some.
If you've been reading this blog for a while, you'll know what blettes are. We grew them in our vegetable garden for several years and I've posted about blettes many times — they are called Swiss chard in the U.S. They are a lot like spinach, which is sold frozen in every supermarket in France. I like the leaves, and they have a slightly different taste compared to spinach.
The young woman looked at me like I might be a Martian. She asked me to say the word two or three times before calling one of her co-workers, who was re-stoking a different freezer cabinet. The other clerk came over to see what was going on and I asked her the main section. Do you stock blettes surgelées? She looked at me wide-eyed. Are you saying blettes? Oui, blettes, lui ai-je répondu. I don't know what you're talking about!
At that point, I saw an older woman who works in the store. She was watching us carefully and trying to figure out what we were talking about. What's the problem, she asked. No problem, I said. I was just asking if I might be able to find some frozen blettes in one of the freezer cases. Et ces jeunes filles ne savent pas ce que c'est que des blettes, n'est-ce pas? Ça ne m'étonne pas. Les jeunes d'aujourd'hui ne connaisssent pas les blettes. Ils n'en ont jamais mangé.
A young man who was stocking other shelves nearby came over at that point. What's going on, he said. The older woman asked him in French if he knew what blettes were. What? he said, looking mystified. Blettes. I've never heard of them. What are they? At that point, the older employee called me to one side, and sort of whispered in my ear: The big produce market over in Saint-Aignan often has fresh blettes in stock. Check there. Fresh vegetables are better than frozen anyway. It was as if she didn't want other store employees to hear her recomending that I shop elsewhere.
If you've been reading this blog for a while, you'll know what blettes are. We grew them in our vegetable garden for several years and I've posted about blettes many times — they are called Swiss chard in the U.S. They are a lot like spinach, which is sold frozen in every supermarket in France. I like the leaves, and they have a slightly different taste compared to spinach.
The young woman looked at me like I might be a Martian. She asked me to say the word two or three times before calling one of her co-workers, who was re-stoking a different freezer cabinet. The other clerk came over to see what was going on and I asked her the main section. Do you stock blettes surgelées? She looked at me wide-eyed. Are you saying blettes? Oui, blettes, lui ai-je répondu. I don't know what you're talking about!
At that point, I saw an older woman who works in the store. She was watching us carefully and trying to figure out what we were talking about. What's the problem, she asked. No problem, I said. I was just asking if I might be able to find some frozen blettes in one of the freezer cases. Et ces jeunes filles ne savent pas ce que c'est que des blettes, n'est-ce pas? Ça ne m'étonne pas. Les jeunes d'aujourd'hui ne connaisssent pas les blettes. Ils n'en ont jamais mangé.
A young man who was stocking other shelves nearby came over at that point. What's going on, he said. The older woman asked him in French if he knew what blettes were. What? he said, looking mystified. Blettes. I've never heard of them. What are they? At that point, the older employee called me to one side, and sort of whispered in my ear: The big produce market over in Saint-Aignan often has fresh blettes in stock. Check there. Fresh vegetables are better than frozen anyway. It was as if she didn't want other store employees to hear her recomending that I shop elsewhere.
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