Salon de l’Agriculture

I very often find that the things that have very little hype around them are the best of all. Hype tends to ruin things, make them seem less amazing than you thought they would be. How fortuitous, then, that the Salon de l’Agriculture received no hype at all, as far as I was concerned; the American Proust Fan suggested we take a trip there, and so we did, early yesterday afternoon.

How did I not know about this??

Coming up with an adequate comparison seems to border on impossible. A foodie Disney World without the lines? All of France crammed into organized rows, for better sampling? At any rate, I’ll try, but for that, one must begin at the beginning.

I live at Porte de Versailles, where professional salons, like the Salon du Chocolat are pretty much omnipresent. Devoted to motorcycles, cars or wine, these events generally congest my métro stop and make getting home a pain, but the Salon de l’Agriculture is worst of all. As France remains a very agricultural country, for the most part, the Salon de l’Agriculture allows politicians to “visit” these far-flung regions of their country and pledge their support; as this is an election year, it was even more important, making me even more sure that I wouldn’t be paying the cows and horses a visit.

“Come on,” the American Proust Fan said. “There’ll be cheese.”

The girl knows how to convince me. But I was not prepared for what I encountered: 9 pavilions full of agricultural professionals, selling their wine, cheese, saucisson, chocolate and more… each holding out free samples.

Oh Lord, the free samples.

We tried these caramel sauces, in salted caramel, apple and ginger.

We tried this wood-smoked filet mignon, which we liked so much we bought, but more on that later.

Some vendors, like this one selling saucisson, extended their arms into the aisle to get us to taste their wares. Others, like most of the Burgundy wine vendors, waited behind their stands, rolling their eyes when we asked for a tasting or not offering one at all. We became quite friendly with some, like a vendor of cassis who allowed us to sample every flavor he had (blackberry, currant, peach, cherry and raspberry), and when we came back to buy a bottle and he had gone, his co-worker allowed us to sample them all again. One vendor in the Guadeloupe area gave us a free cocktail of rum and exotic fruits and asked us to come back later to go out to a bar.

We did not. We had better things to do.

Some things were just fun to look at, and most vendors didn’t mind us snapping photos left and right.

I enjoyed engaging the vendors in conversation, which they loved as well when they learned we were American. One wine vendor was especially smitten, and the APF and I spent quite a bit of time giggling behind our hands.

In the Southern area, I even found some things from the region around Paziols.

I also met and shook hands with Francois Hollande. It was an extremely geeky experience; I’ve never been so excited to meet a celebrity before.

We spent five hours in the first pavilion, and just a few minutes in the second, devoted to international agriculture, where we sampled aged parmesan cheese, fondue, and this combination of ground meat, maroilles cheese and a very large bean on a stick. (Yes, it was delicious.) But there was still one more thing to do: see the animals.

This was, I had thought, the main attraction of the Salon, and the part that the Country Boy took the greatest pleasure in mocking. “Just like les parisiens. Let’s go see a cow in the center of Paris! Ridicule.” (Sidebar: Yes, TCB does speak in franglais most of the time. So do I. Moving on…)

By the time we reached the animals, we had been standing for nearly five hours and drinking all afternoon. Which is really no excuse for the fact that we were more excited than the Parisian children, there with their parents, at the prospect of seeing goats, cows, sheep and pigs.

“We should probably be strategic about this,” said the APF.

“You are a goat! Yes, you are!”

TCB said these baby goats were likely born at the salon. I trust him, because he grew up near animals other than pigeons.

“LOOK AT YOUR FACE.”

Baby farm animals turn me into a six-year-old.

“Hello!”

One of my favorite parts were these extremely blasé teenagers there to help their parents. You can tell this kid really wants to be there.

There were a lot of cows. They were giant.

Baby cow!!!

Birds. Slightly less exciting.

Only in France would the pork tasting center…

…be right next to the pig village.

I’m sorry. This is getting ridiculous. I’ll show you what I brought home from the Salon tomorrow. Right now I have to stare at pictures of piglets for a little while.