The Artisan Is Alive

The artisan is alive! And he lives in France.

In recent years the latest trend in the South African Foodie culture has been to go back to the world of the artisan where you buy specialised products by people who truly know what they’re doing and with it has come ‘the market craze’. Every weekend in Stellenbosch there are at least five markets which you can attend and these markets showcase the best of the artisan from rainbow coloured macaroons, to pretty pastries and smokey meats.

I am definitely not complaining. Many a happy Saturday has been spent roaming the closest market to find the ultimate lunch and the perfect wine to go with it followed by an afternoon on the grass in the sun guzzling down all kinds of tasty and usually pretty treats whilst over-looking the stunning Stellenbosch vineyards. 

But these experiences have thus far been limited to the weekend as this is the only stage where the artisan seems to do well. If you can buy the same products for less from a supermarket, chances are that you will, so your day to day shopping tends to lead you to the closest supermarket where the products are not only cheaper but you can also get everything you need in one stop.

This means that even though we do have some artisans, it is not the norm.

This is not true in France however. As I walked around Paris I realised that although there was a McDonoalds and a Starbucks there was also a huge collection of bakeries, charcuteries and cafes. I was in foodie heaven and couldn’t have been happier.

I saw everything from popular tourist attractions sculpted in chocolate to stunning pastries that made my mouth water and it seemed there were colourful macaroons everywhere that would put the rainbow nation to shame. The collection of yummy looking things drove me wild and before long I was ravenous, and broke, and couldn’t read the names of any of the products, let alone pronounce them.

So I decided I would just have a hot dog to fill the void and then buy a little treat to top it off. Well, I never got to the little treat because a hot dog in Paris is not like a hot dog anywhere else in the world.

I was handed a warm, fresh baguette that I assumed had a Vienna in it somewhere but all I could see was an amazing, cheesy top that had been grilled into a golden delicious looking masterpiece and smelt absolutely amazing.

I tucked in and enjoyed every mouthful of it and barely noticed the Eifel Tower in front of me because I was definitely in heaven. I sat on the stairs in front of the aquarium, in the sun, so full I may actually pop, staring at the Eifel Tower knowing that life was good and that I could very happily do this for the rest of my life.

And this is why I am so grateful to the artisan. My baguette had been created by a genius and the cheesy topping was clearly designed by a maestro, and that is before I even mention the fact that somebody had taken a hot dog, which I am fairly certain is one of life’s greatest pleasures, and somehow made it better!

I am now desperately hoping that South Africans will hold on to the last of our artisans. Perhaps someone could improve on the boerewors roll, although I am fairly certain that is impossible!