The market changes, of course, with the season. In February, there are pears and apples, lemons and oranges, a few long-stemmed, leaf-wrapped baby artichokes and fava beans (from Spain or Italy, and expensive), and lacy clumps of frisee, their yellow-white interiors improbably bright. By early May, there are favas everywhere, artichokes galore, fat carrots, braids of garlic, deep green zucchini with brilliant orange flowers, asparagus in green, white, and inky purple. By midsummer, the market is bursting with cherries, peaches, melons, nectarines, tomatoes, peppers, even cascades of early mushrooms. In fall, the mushrooms have multiplied—cepes, girolles, pieds-de-mouton, pleurottes. There are pears and apples again, and heaps of cabbages and all their cousins. And always, year-round, there are herbs and cheeses and, above all, olives—the famous little local ones, plus an extravagance of imports, from elsewhere in France and from Italy, Spain, and Greece—black, green, purple, almost gray, almost red, and spicy, fleshy, sour, mild. Their perfume overwhelms even the tuberoses and the basil.