Blue Jean Chef

I’m a person who likes lists. That’s no surprise to those of you who know me. I use lists everyday, enjoying the sense of satisfaction that comes from being able to cross things off, getting one step closer to a goal. What’s my goal? Well, I’m not sure, and I don’t let myself wonder about that too much. I guess the goal is just to finish my list, which is futile, come to think of it, since I’m constantly adding to it.

Lately, I’ve come across several lists of “Things to Do before You Die”. Lists like these are not uncommon. There are all kinds of businesses and organizations that put out such a register. In fact, you’ll find about 140,000 such catalogues if you search Google. Usually it is just there to promote whatever product or service the business is in the habit of selling. A travel company, for instance, simply has 100 places that you, without question, must see before you die. Newspapers and magazines put out the list because people are interested in reading it, to see if they’ve accomplished the things that are deemed so important. It’s an interesting phenomenon. If a list acts as a means of telling you how close you are to a goal, then why do we aspire to cross off the tasks on the “Things to Do before You Die” inventory?

Last month, I inadvertently accomplished a task from a list of “Places to Visit before You Die”. I spent a morning at the market in Cotignac, in the South of France. Upon my return, my brother informed me that I had come one step closer to a life of fulfillment, for the Cotignac market is on a list of important places. I’m not sure who designated Cotignac market as one of the top 100 destinations of a lifetime, but my brother told me it was on The Observer’s list, and I believe him. I did wonder about the designation, however. It seems that every little French village has a market on one of the days of the week. Who knew that the little town of Cotignac would hold such importance?

Cotignac is a picturesque little town in the Var, about 15 km east of Barjols, northeast of Marseilles. The most arresting quality of the village is the wall of rock that is its northern border. The cliff wall is made of tufa rock, calcium rich and full of holes and caves. The inhabitants of the village have lived in these caves, and even built their homes into the cliff wall since before recorded history. I used to be a lover of caves and tight places as a child, and yet the thought of living in a cave of sorts is quite alarming to me now. History has it, however, that the villagers lived in these caves to protect themselves from invading enemies, and to seek refuge from political controversies, religious wars, and even epidemics. Some of the lower dwellings are still lived in today. These homes of rock overlook the town of Cotignac and its main street, which is where the market is held every Tuesday.

Indeed, Cotignac holds a very pretty and quaint market. The stalls set up sold anything you might need for an average day in Provence: cooking equipment, from knives to strainers and bottle openers, fleece shirts (quite a bargain at 5 Euros each), hand-made baskets, linens, boiled wool slippers (on my feet as I write), local olive oil, sausages, cheeses, meats, and of course, fruit and vegetables galore.

Of all the vegetables I admired in Cotignac last month (and they were beautiful enough to admire), what stands out in my head most clearly are the leeks. Leeks have an elegant quality. They are subtle and yet strong. They are a member of the lily family along with the onion, and yet they have a much more delicate flavour than their bold cousin. As they protrude from the ground, they stand tall. The structure of this soldier is well-designed – the leaves, tightly wrapped around each other, produce a stalk that does not bend over or lean, but stands straight up, announcing its presence with a quiet pride. I don’t blame it. I think if I were a vegetable, I’d be proud to be a leek. Sure, they require a good cleaning to rid them of the sand or dirt trapped inside, but what interesting person doesn’t have a little grit on the inside, out of view?

The leeks in Cotignac were slender and beautiful. As I saw them resting side by side in their basket, I could picture them on a plate - beautiful grill marks, a confident vinaigrette drizzled over top, complimenting their onion aroma. I could even imagine the fillet of fish that would sit beside them on the plate. The image of these leeks must have stayed with me, for when I returned home to Philadelphia days later, I was drawn to the leeks in my local Whole Foods. Now, Whole Foods presents its produce beautifully, but unfortunately they are still no match to an open air market in the South of France. And yet, now I can say “been there, done that”. I can cross Cotignac market off my list of “Places to Visit before You Die”, and where does it get me? Hmmm… one step closer to finishing that list. I hope it takes me, well, a lifetime to finish that list, and I do hope that is in fact a long time.

Cotignac market has made me think differently about my lists. Perhaps I need to spend a little more time enjoying what it is I’m actually doing, than simply celebrating the completion of the task. Life is, after all, what you make it. And when this life is over, I want to be able to stand tall and proud in my second life…sort of like a leek.

This entry was posted on Thursday, January 19th, 2006 at 11:21 am and is filed under France, Personal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.