Last weekend I managed to detach myself from the computer screen and spend some time outdoors. I don’t know what drove me except for perhaps a sense of feeling sorry for myself after the multitude of time spent playing KOTR2. But I digress. (I liked it by the way).

The primary motivator for this short journey outside of my apartment is my good friend Nissou, who I’d much rather call Miss Chokesondick, but for fear of offending her, and other people, I chose the former nickname.

Our destination was the Jean Talon marketplace, a bustling collection of tents and stores, out in the open, just like in many European countries. The food is delicious, fresh and cheap due to the vast amount of competition which goes on in this compressed space. There are Lebanese, Quebecers, Latin Americans, Haitians, French, Asians, a true melting pot of cultural diversification and energy. It reminds me much of the market places in France in which I used to spend hours exploring with my grandparents whenever I would go visit. They don’t make em like this anymore, and I fear that such gatherings are becoming more and more scarce due to economic development. Whilst I could argue for hours about weather it is efficient or not to have such market places, and I don’t think its profitable for the seller to setup a stand given the multitude of identical kiosks, there is a cultural consideration in the old school sense.

Nissou and I walked among the energy of the people, the fish seller yelling his prices to the people, attempting to attract attention, samples of fresh fruits and vegetables laid our to entice the potential customer. She purchased some vegetables and fruits, I bought some BBQ sausages which were exquisite. We finally ended up in a Butcher shop where she purchased some Saucisses de Toulouse, whilst I acquired two sexy Saucissons d’Auvergne. I think I burnt a hole in my stomach shortly after arriving home and consuming one of them in a matter of hours with my Opinel knife.

Nissou is from France, and I know she dosen’t feel completely at home in Montreal sometimes. That day a certain peace and optimism radiated from her. I think some of it rubbed off on me.

Culturally I am more American than French. Actually I am neither given my peculiar upbringing, however this trip made me realize that there is a significant part of me which identifies with the French side. I find this odd because I generally don’t get along too well with the French, and hence tend to be rather detached from that part of me. Except for the Mediterranean gastronomy. I am accused, and rightfully so, of picking and choosing my background and culture to whatever situation I choose. Multiculturalism is fantastic.