Post-market, at café Le Comptoir

Since Rennes makes it easy for us to be creatures of habit, every Saturday, we stop at the Comptoir, a small café ot the corner of rue Saint Michel and Place Sainte Anne. In summer, we compete for a place in the sun on the terrace, but in winter when the sky is low and chilly rain can cut to the bone, we head inside and cozy up with a mug of hot mulled wine, vin chaud as we say here. We buy Le Monde at the newspaper kiosk next door, and we enjoy our little post-market ritual.

Turns out, we are not the only ones who make a pit stop on the way home on the way home from the market. 

When I was a kid, I would have died of shame if I had been spotted with one of those rolling carts my mom used to take to the market. If only she had understood how un-chic it was... She had one with a brown and green plaid pattern, perfectly ugly and practical.

Now, 40 years later, can you guess which is mine?

Oh yes, I have learned that nobody can carry a dozen oysters, 2 kilos of mussels, a live crab, fruits, veggies and a huge butternut squash by hand... I tried it for a few weeks with my jane-birkinesque cute wicker basket, but that did not last long. Mom, yes, I became interested in practicality, a new concept for me...