Somewhere in Provence, every morning of the week, in every kind of weather, small farmers and market gardeners get up before dawn to drive their camionnettes to a village. They maneuver into narrow streets and squares, set up simple trestle tables, and unload boxes of fruit and vegetables harvested only hours before at the paek of ripeness. On Good days - and most days are good - the Provencal sun transforms ripe peppers to fire, honey to melted gold, and olives into baroque jewels. Eggplants, tomatoes, and cherries glisten, melons send messages to your nose, and everything asks to be tasted." - an exerpt from Markets of Provence.