First, you have to shop. No one lives full-time in the family house, so the giant antique food cupboard is full of expired products, cans someone bought just in case but that no one likes, specialty products only one person loves, or even empty boxes.
Once you sort through the mess, you need to go to the one and only small supermarket—a Unico—which is a two-kilometre walk from home. Uphill, of course.
The small Unico caters to two demographic segments. Full-time residents use it as a convenience store, a merde-I-forgot-the-tomato-sauce stop; they usually have a car and shop at the giant Auchan in the next big town—cheaper, better selection. During the high season, campers and tourists stop are Unico customers as well. Because they usually stay in RVs or short-term rentals by the beach, they want cheap and easy-to-prepare meals. Unico understood it and mostly offers giant packages of merguez, sausage, and pork ribs to barbecue; chips and other junk food for the beloved aperitif (pre-meal drinks); deli meat, cans of ravioli or couscous, and bien sûr a huge selection of booze.
Nothing really that would please my family—veggie-lover folks who don’t drink. I’m supposed to bring back yaourts blancs (sorry, there are only Danette), jambon blanc (sorry, there are only lardons), Comté and Bleu de bresse cheese (sorry, there are mostly twenty different kinds of camembert) and light cookies (sorry, there are mostly galettes from Brittany, all made with twenty kilos of butter).
There is a local market as well on Tuesdays and Fridays, but I found it very expensive. Again, it focuses on customers who need to buy big portions of ready-to-eat food—paëlla (Spanish-style stir-fried rice), roasted chicken with potatoes, beignets (fried dough), etc.
Shopping is fun, though. I enjoy the walks outside and I love checking out products and prices. It’s a cultural experience!