Ahhh, the Frenchies… Call them prim and fussy (or elegant and discerning) but they know how to throw a proper fair. Dairy cows, cattle, piggies, sheep…

… fine wines tastings (Chevrey-Chambertin, Cote du Nuits, Pouilly-Fume’)…

…tapenade sampling (combos like olive/fig, olive/raspberry, fig/roasted red pepper)…

artisinal cheeses & charcuterie displays, foie gras (seared and served between a slender wedge of crusty baguette, you know, like a haute French hot dog)…

… and more slumbering little piggies trucked in from the burbs, representing a life many Parisians (or New Yorkers) couldn’t imagine.

Still not getting the picture? Okay, imagine the annual Fancy Food Show at the Javitts Center is cross-bred with the Kentucky State Fair ; Le Salon de l’Agriculture is born. She’s a cooing, plump, countrified beauty whose simple charms show off the best of sa mere and ton pere. Being placed on a pedestal (of hay) in the capital of chic and sophistication only make her more honest, more appealing–radiant. Yes, I’m calling cattle radiant because, well, under the yellow lights, with their hair brushed just so, they’re stunning 2-ton creatures.

It takes a dedicated foodie to leave behind Avenue Montaigne and the Picasso Museum for hairy beasts and raw-milk cheeses during her 5-day Parisian escape. (Is this where I should start blushing?)  But I was lucky enough to have dear, clairvoyant, foodie-minded, French friends–Ann and Benjamin–to encourage me to put down the shopping bags, cancel a lunch reservation and a hop a metro to the outskirts of town.

(FYI, single ladies–say the name “Benjamin” with a French accent, something like, “Bah-jssha-MA,” and you’re booking a one-way ticket to Charles de Gaulles to meet the man of your dreams.)

After checking out the nation’s most revered and pampered animaux, we walked one building over to the honey of all food fairs. There was nary a funnel cake, blueberry pie or candied apple in sight, but the Bordeaux tasting and Brebis cheese (dotted with homemade confiture de cerise–cherry jam) made up for that.

Anne, Benjamin and best-friend-partner-in-crime, Katie,  patiently moved with me from food stall to food stall–and there were hundreds of them, mind you– sampling the specialties of each region. I think I was in a trance. (Or was that the wine and cheese rennet?) And in a transparent attempt to mollify my sweet hubby who stayed at home with the baby while I drank fine wine and obsessed over fancy purses with my best girlfriend, I bought him one of everything. Okay, I bought him one of each of his favorites: saffron and saffron-infused raspberry jam from Brittany (slather that on your croissant) , Fleur de Sel de Geurande (considered the best salt in the world–the perfect finish for any protein or veggie), Provencal olive oil from Moulin a Huile Paradis near Nimes, Alsatian cookies and jars of fresh green and black olive tapenade. Parker? She now sports a “bunny vest” (that’s what she calls it anyway) made of French mohair.   

It was the perfect Paris Sunday. Merci, Anne and Benjamin. Merci, piggies and indulgent food and wine vendors. I’m dropping Paris in the springtime and coming back next year in the dead of winter, to revisit the world’s best county fair.