Sunday At the Market

Posted on by Sandell Morse

       It Sunday morning at the Market in Auvillar, France, and I cannot resist buying roasted chestnuts from a vendor who scoops them hot into a cone he fashions from newspaper. There is no price. One drops coins into a jar. The day is sunny but blustery. Behind the chestnut vendor a brazier glows. Men gather warming their hands.  In the air, the smell of more chestnuts roasting, and I am brought back to the chestnut vendors of my childhood standing on street corners in New York City. Perhaps, Mom, Dad and I have driven through the Lincoln Tunnel, come to see the Christmas show at Radio City, when Dad stops to buy a brown paper bag of sweet, warm roasted chestnuts. We peel and eat, as I am eating now, tasting time. 


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2 Responses to Sunday At the Market

  1. And as the smell generates these memories for you, so does your post generate memories of visiting the weekend markets of the North West of England as a child (centuries ago) and seeing them sold there too. There seems to be a revival
    at the moment since a lot of Christmas markets have them.

  2. And they are still on street corners in NYC at Christmas, but alas, I’m not there.

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