City Observer | France: The Best Place to Taste Authentic French Gastronomy? The Marché.

Like most people who have never set foot on the land of France before, I believed the best place to experience authentic French cuisine must be in a Michelin-star restaurant in Paris, or at least at a well-known Parisian table. Listening to My Life in France by Julia Child on the flight to Europe, I fantasized that I would have the best gastronomic experience of my life in Julia’s favorite city - Paris.

However, the food in Paris was a disappointment for me.

I deliberately chose a couple of restaurants filled with Parisians and locals in downtown, expecting an elevated experience of authentic French cuisine, but was disappointed to find that they were no better than the French meals I had tasted back in Shanghai, recommended by a real Frenchman.

I couldn’t quite explain why, until I read An Economist Gets Lunch: New Rules for Everyday Foodies by Tyler Cowen, a food writer and Professor of Economics. In the book, he provocatively asks whether Paris might even be “the worst food city in the world,” arguing that food gentrification has pushed prices so high that Parisians now reserve splurging only for things they are truly interested in. As a result, he claims, it has become surprisingly difficult to find an exceptional rendition of everyday, homemade French classics in Paris.

His analysis cracked my puzzle immediately.Yes, I came to France yearning for a bowl of Boeuf Bourguignon straight out of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking, the kind that tastes like it was simmered by someone’s grandmother, not something fancy touted in a Michelin-starred restaurant.

Cowen suggested exploring outside of Paris. How coincidental that I ended up having my best foodie experience at Marché des Capucins in Bordeaux.

Different from Chinese local fresh markets, Marché des Capucins is not only a place where the freshest local vegetables, fruits, bakeries, cheese, and all kinds of meat are sold, but also a place where people commune and enjoy their lunch together. (It normally starts at 5:30 a.m. and closes around 2 p.m)

In China, I would never imagine having a proper lunch in a local fresh market, which is often associated with raw meat sold in open air and environments not designed for dining, where water from rinsing meat splashes onto the ground, leaving the floor wet and messy. But in Capucins, raw meat sits behind spotless glass displays, irresistible to the eye. No dirt. No mess. Just order and clarity.

In Bordeaux, it seems most locals feel the same as I do about having lunch at a Marché， judging by the long queues in front of food stalls and seafood bars, and how difficult it is to find a vacant seat at noon, especially on weekends.

During my brief stay in Bordeaux, I loved walking to this Marché early in the morning to have breakfast and discover the freshest arrivals before the crowd gathered. It was there I tried Grandma-style Bavette avec échalotes, while three or four Frenchmen chatted over coffee at the next table. The Bavette was not as tender as I expected, perhaps a bit overdone for me, but the portion was huge, the kind that should be served at a family table, simple and hearty enough to fill the stomach and the mood.

Photo by author, shot at Marché des Capucins

October is peak season for seafood, and at Marché des Capucins, almost every stall serves fresh oysters. Here, I had a seafood experience far beyond my expectations. 6 huîtres No.3 from the Ferret (Bordeaux’s most famous local oyster-producing region), served with a glass of white wine, costs only €10. Still, six oysters hardly filled the gap between my teeth, so I ordered a portion of bulots with homemade mayonnaise. And as always, the French served a basket of baguette and salted butter alongside.

Photo by author, shot at Marché des Capucins

The oysters tasted like they were still alive in the sea. I even drank all the liquid in the shell, seawater, really, lightly salty, crystal clear, sweet yet briny. In Shanghai, oysters are fresh too, but rarely this juicy, rarely carrying that first sip of seawater.

And the bulots, sensational. The moment I dipped one in homemade mayonnaise and put it into my mouth, I could feel my taste buds dancing on the tip of my tongue. Divine. Whoever invented this combination is a true genius. Mayonnaise is a dipping sauce beyond anything in my Chinese flavor dictionary. My instinctive reference for bulots always goes back to the way my mom cooked snails, deep-fried with bold Sichuan spices or braised in soy sauce and aromatics. Both are delicious, of course. But those strong flavors cover the original umami, the pure, briny sweetness of bulots freshly pulled from the sea. I almost ordered another portion, but a voice in my head hesitated, raw seafood in a market, what if there’s food poisoning or diarrhea? (That hesitation later became my biggest regret. My stomach never grumbled as there was zero sign of discomfort.)

Photo by author, shot at Marché des Capucins

The French couple next to me seemed to enjoy their oysters and white wine as much as their conversation, while I was fully immersed in my seafood plate, perhaps living up to the stereotype that Chinese people love seafood so much that we might one day out-eat the ocean.

Only after fully satisfying my taste buds did I suddenly notice the French girl serving at the seafood bar. She was like a diva stepping out of a nostalgic European movie, with long blonde hair in a ponytail, porcelain skin, and an hourglass figure. As we say in Chinese, she was “秀色可餐 (xiù sè kě cān)”, literally, “so beautiful you could eat her up”, a true feast for the eyes.

When I later shared this grand revelation with a travel-connoisseur friend, he laughed and teased, “Always the last to wake up in life.” And he might be right. My mind is so often fully occupied with the food in front of me that I sometimes miss the real beauty standing right before my eyes.