Salon "Bio," a.k.a. let's make lambs into shoes.

Continuing on my current theme of massive unfounded generalisations about France and French people, I missed the moment when Parisians turned, en masse, to the side of organic food and became obsessed with all things "Bio." I think it happened around 2004. Though I wasn't here then, I imagine that if I was, one minute we'd all have been sitting around dipping our steak frites in beurre and watching the red blood run down our faces, then there'd be a barely audible click, and within a few seconds we'd be asking one another where you can buy five-grain rusks and explaining how important it is for one's forme, santé, enfants etc to "manger bio."

This weekend the better-off sort of Parisian woman (pregnant, 30, serene, wearing expensive knitwear) is at the Salon Bio at Parc de la Villette with her serene knitwear-clad mummy, elbowing past the students to get to the free organic pesto dips. I know, because I went yesterday. 'Salons' are another Parisian thing I had no experience of, and my landlady gave me some free tickets, so I went out of curiosity. What goes on at a 'salon'? Traditionally, it was a reception room, and the word in English came to mean a literary, musical, or other intellectual kind of soirée, hosted to promote The Arts by some aspiring lady, accompanied by tea and delicacies and a string quartet. That's the mental image I have, anyway.

In Paris 2009 it seems to mean an exhibition hall, a show, and these exist for everything under the sun, last month: salon du mariage, salon immobilier, salon du chocolat. At the Salon Bio we tasted breads, jams, spreads, cookies, cider, all produced organically and at phenomenal prices. There was also an array of beautiful, gaspingly-expensive baby clothes, bags, hats, hemp stuff, you know. Fabulous deals on apple crisps, €8.50 a bag or €15 for two. Bizarre gadgets to oxygenate the air, de-chlorify water, relieve stress. Criminally costly cookware for steaming your food, vibrating anti-cellulite massage chairs to shake out whatever change was left in your pockets. Point made, I think. It was pricey.

The interesting, generalization-worthy part was this: the focus was on well-being and personal health, rather than on the planet, as it would have been in England. I didn't go in the Greenpeace tent, but elsewhere there were remarkably few stalls proclaiming their low environmental impact and green credentials. All the adverts were based on the fact that products contained some rare ingredient (loved the horse milk soap), were super-low-allergy, were re-invigorating or some shit. And in the midst of this "bio" produce, supposedly so healthy and hippyish, there was a stall selling sheepskin rugs, leather bags, and these delightful cosy slippers made from lambswool, that looked a bit like sheep. It was the final proof that, as I had suspected, Parisians were just here because it is deeply fashionable. There are certain must-have cereals, darling. Then they are going home in their cars to their fur coats and unethically farmed meat.

We did try an absolutely beautiful spicy fruit bread-cake hybrid, which reminded me that October half-term (23rd) is Christmas pudding week. I have a dreadful feeling that I will masochistically treat this as a challenge and try and make one here. This is only because the horrible memories have faded from Christmas 2007 when I made three in Bristol and gave one to my French exchange student friend as a present which she then ate the same day. One we ate at Fake Christmas Dinner and I can't remember what happened to the other one.