Letters to Audrine

10- The Language of Love

"I don't know if I'm there yet," I state nervously.

"I think you can do it," Silas assures me in a calm and reassuring voice. "You can order whatever you want."

"Okay," I decide that I'll try. It's nerve racking, because every time that I've tried to talk to somebody other than Silas in my broken French, it doesn't go well. Knowing the words for the vegetables is different than being able to put together a coherent sentence. But the way that he looks at me with so much confidence makes me feel confident in myself. Once we get the merchant's attention, I say "Je voudrais deux poivrons rouges."

I would like two red peppers.

"That was good," Silas assures me, and I feel relieved when the merchant doesn't look confused, and promptly starts packing two of the bright red peppers into a small paper bag. Silas pays for it and places the peppers into his bag with the herbs.

"That wasn't too bad," I take a deep breath.

We don't leave the booth though, because Silas also needs some other vegetables that he orders and pays for, and then we move on again.

"Is this how you buy all of your groceries?" I ask him curiously.

"Mostly," he answers. "We get all that we can here, but there are some things that we need to go into the shops for."

"It's so unprocessed," I say, feeling shocked at how healthy it would be to live here and live off of so much fresh produce. And things like sauces, jams, and spices, are homemade here at the market instead of in a factory and sold in big grocery stores.

"We eat a lot of homemade cooking, so we try to keep it fresh and somewhat healthy," he says. "And for the restaurant, it's better to be able to experiment for new dishes with fresh ingredients from the market."

"That's really cool," I feel jealous that they have so many fresh ingredients to cook with. I guess I have similar opportunities in the States with the produce at Kroger, but it's not the same as buying directly from the farmer who grew that produce.

"So what are you going to make with red peppers?" Silas asks me as we're walking.

"My paternal grandma makes really good stuffed peppers. I think I can convince her to give me the recipe," I explain to him. Although this is true, I really only asked for red peppers because I knew how to say it. "She always says that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. It's an outdated phrase, but she is a really good cook."

"Are you flirting with me, using peppers?" Silas raises his dark eyebrows at me, and we stop at another booth. This one with a colorful array of apples, from reds, yellows, and green apples.

"No," I say quickly as he inspects the apples on display. "I'm just saying that my grandma believed that, so it's why she's such a good cook. If I was going to flirt with you, I would not use food to do it."

"Food is the language of love," he says smoothly, then pauses to order a bag of golden apples. The merchant starts putting them all in a paper bag as Silas prepares the amount of money to give to the lady working the booth.

"I'm not very fluent," I joke, nervously twirling my braid through my fingers. "But I'll see where my stuffed peppers get me."

That makes Silas smile, which makes me smile too. As we walk throughout the market collecting groceries and checking them off of the list that Silas has, our conversation is easy. I try to order from the merchants as much as I can to practice my French, and Silas is pretty supportive. Even when I make mistakes, he helps me through it and I truly feel like my French skills have improved even just by walking through the market. Or, should I say, through the marché.