A few times a year, a small French market comes around to Wimbledon, occupying the space in front of the large Morrisons supermarket. A fortnight or so ago, there was a measly looking market, consisting of a cheese van, a mobile crêperie and another van selling olives, saucissons secs and garlic. In previous occasions, there were a few more vans, but not this time around. A sign of less affluent times, perhaps?
Anyway, as I use garlic almost daily, almost whenever I cook, I couldn’t resist the large, plump bulbs of garlic, exuding a smokey aroma. They don’t disappoint, though that could well mean I am emitting garlic smell all the time. I was wondering why people weren’t sitting next to me on the tube.