Many years ago, when I first fell in love with Paris, I stayed in hotels and suffered through agonizingly mediocre dinners in nameless bistros, always longing for a kitchen of my own, to paraphrase Virginia Woolf.
When I finally realized that renting an apartment made more sense monetarily and culinarily, why then I invested in a string bag and gaping basket with a maw like a lion’s, just for “le shopping” that occupies many Parisians’ waking thoughts. But what I never reckoned with was the SIZE of the kitchens I encountered …
Now you know why French people shop every day …