Choosing The Cheese

I arrived in Paris early in the spring, by myself, with the rest of the family scheduled to join me after the school year finished in late June. One of the first tasks I focused on was learning how to accomplish everyday tasks – getting to work, buying groceries, choosing appliances, and doing the banking. We had selected an apartment in a perfect, quiet neighborhood – only one metro to work, a wide variety of shops, and very close to one of the jewels of Paris - the neighborhood outdoor "marché" or market. One or two mornings a week, the marchés are set up in their reserved location, scattered across Paris and the days of the week to ensure every resident has access within walking distance at least weekly. The schedule for each market is consistent but differs from those in adjacent neighborhoods so that a short bus ride can always be taken if you find you lack a fresh ingredient or two for the evening meal.

In my first months alone in Paris, I frequented the market only one block from my new apartment in the 16th "arrondissement" or neighborhood in the southwest of Paris. I enjoyed trying the multiple market vendors and the variety of permanent grocery and specialty shops in the area. Each vendor had their delicious specialty - cheese, meat, fish, fresh fruit and vegetables, flowers, or desserts.

I was in the process of narrowing my choice of duplicate vendors to those that offered a varied selection and the best customer service. Which ones would become my regular, favorite sources? Once chosen, I intended to stick with the same vendor throughout the years ahead. Except, of course, during the annual August vacations, but that is another short story.

On this particular Saturday morning, I was searching for some cheese, which I would match with a fresh baguette from my favorite boulangerie or bakery. I was progressing quite well until I pointed to a piece of Roquefort blue cheese that I was hoping to buy. The cheese vendor recognized me from three previous market days, though it took several additional visits and purchases before she would conclude that I had chosen her as my preferred vendor. Her immediate response was a question that was incomprehensible to me, except for the smile that completed her delivery. I expressed my regret at not understanding her using my limited French and asked her to repeat the phrase. Even with slower repetition and resorting to expressive hand motions, we remained mired. The question was most assuredly of importance to the cheese vendor - there was no getting the Roquefort until I had satisfied her query!

My rescue came from the woman behind me in line - but only after she had allowed the cheese vendor and me a suitable interval to try to resolve our communications problem and to provide me an opportunity to practice my French. This next customer in line explained in excellent English that the vendor was asking if that particular wedge of Roquefort cheese that I had been pointing to was acceptable to me. She was looking for an affirmative answer before moving to wrap the wedge carefully and proceed to my next purchase. I passed the now diminished hurdle with an expressive "Mais oui, Madame," and a smile of relief. The two to three-minute exchange was a pattern that would be repeated many times in my years in Paris. A situational challenge, the search for resolution, the struggle to express myself in acceptable French, my interlocutor's patience, and the relief and pleasure that resulted when I was able to build a direct personal connection, achieve the desired results, and carry on to my next experience.