![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB_fTAe37DGIE3tDz5x6Tv_hn0aijTQBUpWZP_oqHDOvNz9Kac3JYAjntKGJ47CRDzksUHFkVvqjCo1o696VPCj_Dfblv_FvG3XSFfjhvq7Y2ZD9JcGoHNYQJUlCapCHgsd3FKn-uLzbM/s320/20080619photo1.jpg)
For me, he brought a packet of Herbes de Provence.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOJaaBfWUIszK3464NPnD4aNG-ZYRU5AKfSRmhFlLjxAmy6VZv8nVATtD8W383KJ32ym96QhSMMiTLlEW_twfyCtD8PNzoNf0p_EUQdAtBEVZw83K7ss-26xGfjwFNd0FT3JOdGXd2p8/s320/20080619photo2.jpg)
And a small jar of apricot and vanilla jam.
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It’s not healthy to be jealous. Especially of your own brother. And especially when you, yourself, went on a trip to France just a few short months ago. But I can’t help it, he got to go to Pierre Hermé three times, and I only got to go twice. And I still haven’t gotten to see any photos!
But he didn’t get to go to a single marché in France. He says he spent enough time at the markets in Italy. And he calls himself a foodie? So he didn’t get to visit the spice vendor.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8KFSpkkokQ6HtJFf9AWxeRjmAmmDPt3U4TDDPPFPhPRdxtKumoYUGYc9FTDHcbfzjEdVHP06HArYaHN8TpI5u_iSr-BWRE_mLqJFdcefS9-tML0pDqP-X57snu4VAC5vapv0NgrwSsus/s320/20080619photo4.jpg)
Or the egg purveyor.
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He didn’t get to taste the entire variety of sausages.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4UfVrR88x9339eO7qlVvC84A8MAKcOqT3Tsm0h8tn1OU_P84DQKcdDxT0WHPMws6OzsjMxJOZ1J_a3_aY-NoY0f0SlSxv5KNvLJN0bKX4EzFovqNSTAR6nccZBaKRGEl9OlUfXulTmJE/s320/20080619photo6.jpg)
He didn’t get to buy olives and buttery olive oil straight from the source.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1A9Rase3MA-3SQVwKdPa0W62EJP8qGNb_mp2grRcOkYj_s9iBYsty8lL46CvmW37jun85sLaF9pyxbwuVQGHiS5RCiLriOBEO1oC5g1tXu1tvhvXIOfEV3s6Ng5URZVIQpdJ5JEUMExQ/s320/20080619photo7.jpg)
And he didn’t get to see the garlic, piled high.
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Nor did he get to inhale the savory aroma of the rotisserie meats.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZ9Nw9P3svf_BccGoO7WYxS-mZU0Ez-TuNl36safa-lzah2BzW1-jwbqoY3lFfkMREjEyU0fyNYMwXREz_Fz43o6R2oXCD0urvKAuvihcAU1MF2kUDjb7aV-WYJkWCve5D5yC-AO2xiA/s320/20080619photo9.jpg)
Or the ripe cheeses.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jeLaeb54PfKUAJdCFEcLdbUUvfV5u6TCASgGDqGvrluauS4XELomR-kRjKUyUwnA_5P5fYXXeVIwczR_9NDlf1mQCajFpd9gf3CDkrvzmfQmW8uSxYMB1idPDmnGZPyiQYKs9BzV_-c/s320/20080619photo10.jpg)
When I was in France, I got to shop at the markets daily, this one in Arles was my favorite. Perhaps my little brother should be jealous of me.
1 comments:
Both of my children go to Europe and brag about it. I wonder who should be jealous. Mom
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