Jealous

My little brother just went on a trip to Europe. He went to Hungary, Italy, and France. He’s a foodie, after me, so he visited the requisite foodie destinations. I’m so jealous. He brought my mother blini pans from Dehillerin in Paris and my husband a saucisson sec.


For me, he brought a packet of Herbes de Provence.


And a small jar of apricot and vanilla jam.


It’s not healthy to be jealous. Especially of your own brother. And especially when you, yourself, went on a trip to France just a few short months ago. But I can’t help it, he got to go to Pierre Hermé three times, and I only got to go twice. And I still haven’t gotten to see any photos!

But he didn’t get to go to a single marché in France. He says he spent enough time at the markets in Italy. And he calls himself a foodie? So he didn’t get to visit the spice vendor.


Or the egg purveyor.


He didn’t get to taste the entire variety of sausages.


He didn’t get to buy olives and buttery olive oil straight from the source.


And he didn’t get to see the garlic, piled high.


Nor did he get to inhale the savory aroma of the rotisserie meats.


Or the ripe cheeses.


When I was in France, I got to shop at the markets daily, this one in Arles was my favorite. Perhaps my little brother should be jealous of me.