Those who read my paean of praise a year ago to the charms of the market in the Place Carnot in the centre of Carcassonne, south-west France, will also know that, with Jancis’s connivance, I have been enjoying an affair with numerous, older women for the past 25 years.
These are the strong, weather-beaten souls who, from very early every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday morning, man the stalls of this market from which they sell the freshest and possibly the best-value haricots verts, sucrines (the local salad), honey, peaches, plums and nectarines, fish, cheese and flowers in the country.
This...