156 animal, vegetable, miracle
them closely, then looked up at me with eyebrows raised in the age- old
question: dinner, or pets? I had no idea. We poked into shops that sold
tea, dried mushrooms, and fabulous dresses that zip up the side so tightly
they look painted on. We ate lunch in a bustling cafeteria where the goods
ranged from fried squid to Jell- O.
Later we stopped in at a Lebanese market, which the kids also consid-
ered fine entertainment. They kept running up to show me intriguing ed-
ibles: powdered flowers in bottles; some kind of cola apparently made
from beans; “Greek Mountain tea,” which looked to me like a bunch of
weeds in a cellophane bag. An enormous glass case ran the full width of
the store across the back, displaying cheeses. No modest yellow blocks or
wheels were these, but gigantic white tablets of cheese, with the shape
and heft of something Moses might have carried down from the moun-
tain. Serious cheesemaking happened here, evidently. A young woman in
a white apron stood ready to saw off a bit of goat, cow, or sheep cheese for
me. We chatted, and she confirmed that these products were made in a
kitchen nearby. I was curious about what kind of rennet and cultures were
used for these Middle Eastern cheeses. She answered but seemed puz-
zled; most customers weren’t interested in the technicalities. I confessed
I’d tried this at home.
“You make cheese yourself,” she repeated reverently. “You are a real
housewife.”
It has taken me decades to get here, but I took that as a compliment.
/
Our search kept us moving through Montreal’s global neighborhoods
until we arrived at the grand farmers’ market of Petite Italie. An arrange-
ment of flowering plants near the entrance spelled out “Benvenuto.” Un-
der an awning that covered several blocks, matrons with bulging bags
crowded the aisles between open stalls spilling over with fresh goods.
This was the place to shop, in any language.
I tried French, since I don’t speak Italian. Elles sont d’où, les tomates?
D’ici, madame! From right here, Quebec, the vendors replied proudly,
again and again. (Except for one sardonic farmer who answered, when