For as long as I’ve know the value of cooking in a copper pot, I’ve yearned for one.
Every time we’d pass by a shop window at Dehillerin or catch a glimpse of them in kitchens, I’d sigh at the sight of them, hoping that I’ll save up a little money and own a copper pot some day. When I was back in Bombay earlier this year, I even stopped by at a restaurant ware shop at Crawford Market hoping to buy some copper ware at a bargain price. A closer look revealed a not-so-perfect finish, and as it turned out they didn’t have the pot in the size I was looking for. Truth is, I was glad they didn’t, because I didn’t just want to buy a copper pot, I wanted to make a copper pot memory for myself. I had a romanticised image of cooking perfect sauces in shiny copper pots in Paris, and buying a dusty pot from a cramped up shop wouldn’t quite cut it. And because copper cookware is synonymous with France and her assiduous chefs, I decided I’d buy my first copper pot in Paris to make for a memorable story, whenever it might be.
On Saturday morning, I set out to visit the Vide Grenier in the dreamy part of the city, Montmartre. Vide greniers are the equivalent of garage sales or boot sales, except that the French organise themselves along the length of the street or sometimes in cuter settings like the Village Saint Paul. With the arrival of spring, Vide greniers and brocantes (flea markets) are organised across the city on weekends and are a great place to go vintage shopping for second hand clothes, records, clocks, typewriters, cutlery, your very own Amélie gnome and things you never thought you’d need, but can think up ten excuses to buy just because they’re so pretty and so French.
As I pottered around the market, fidgeting with vintage French jars and flipping through old prints and comics, I spotted a table crammed with a bunch of things I can’t remember because the only thing that struck out to me was a stack of three copper pots. Copper pots! (breathe…) Behind the counter were two young boys and an older man, probably their father. I went up to them and asked the price. One for €5. I’m quite pathetic with registering French numbers, and it only got worse because my brain was ready to recognise two digit numbers but I got a single digit thrown at me. I asked again just to be sure. “Cinq Euro,” he said. And what if I bought all three? “€12,” said the seller. While my mind said, “Woah oh oh ohh!” I pretended like I didn’t care and even went on ask him to sell all the three pots for €10 being the compulsive haggler that I am.
These pots looked like they had collected dust in someone’s attic for a while, and a tell-tale sign that these really hadn’t been used was a perfectly smooth copper finish on two pots with a horribly large black stain on the largest pot and a green a patina of time (which is still sitting in the kitchen, covered in lemon slices). So, my theory is that these boys who sold me the pot really didn’t get the importance and value of copper. They didn’t care that this was a French handmade artisanal pot. I imagine that they had used the largest pot and heated it up without any liquid or fat that caused that ugly black stain on it, following which they thought that something was wrong with the pots and that they’d just much rather use ‘regular’ pots so all the three were stacked up and put away for a long time. Another theory to support the fact that these were new is that they still had the instruction sheet for the copper pots sitting in the pot. Or maybe their mom asked the boys to man the counter for a while and they just blurted out €12 without knowing what they actually retail for, which is almost €300 for all three! I make up theories and stories in my head all the time.
Without thinking twice, I told him I’d take all the three copper pots. Packed up in an old plastic bag with a parting wish of a “Bonne Brocante“, I continued down the street to look for more such finds. An hour of rummaging later, I popped back into the métro with a bagful of pots and pans rattling away.
As soon as I returned home, I began cleaning my new pots: a little wash, a bit of scrubbing off the rust on the heavy iron handles followed by an hour of rubbing the copper with tamarind pulp to bring that shine back rendered two gorgeous copper pots, the kind I’d always wanted to own. Cleaning two pots (in the picture above) was a cinch, but the third one had a stubborn black stain that no amount of tamarind would reduce. Nor lemons or acetone. I’m just going to wait for my copper polish to arrive. And I’ll probably get the interior retinned to get a sparkling silver inside.
And just like that on a Saturday morning, I got three copper pots and made a happy memory for myself.
The first thing I cooked in my copper pot? Crabs!
PS: If you do plan on visiting a a Vide Grendier or Brocante, I’d suggest visiting a Vide Grenier for better bargains. At Vide Greniers, the sellers essentially want to get rid of whatever they have so it’s cheaper but at brocantes, the sellers know the value of what they’re offering all too well, so it’s not always a great bargain. For this, Brocabrac is a fantastic app that lists details of these sales all over France. There a nifty My Little Paris guide for all of the sale schedules in the next few months.
Update 29/4/2013: That jam pan I wanted? Found it at the vide-grenier yesterday. Spent three hours scrubbing it back to new while watching Modern Family. Sunday well spent.