In Paris, It's the Real Savoir Fair

Looking over the seven convention buildings that make up the Porte de Versailles -- some of them connected with moving walkways -- the immensity of the salon began to sink in. Suddenly, we felt hungry. We ducked into one of the buildings and found ourselves in the middle of an exhibit featuring products from southwest France. We shared a table -- elbow-to-elbow with other patrons -- at one of the many temporary restaurants set up for the fair. We ate steaming plates of cassoulet, with smoked duck and ham, washed down with wine by the pitcher from Gaillac.

After the rib-sticking lunch, we undertook a walk across France and its territories spread over what seemed like miles of pathways through three buildings.

There were pralines and macaroons from the Southwest, oysters from the Aquitaine, a cooking demonstration of sauteed apples and foie gras from the Perigord, ravioli from the Rhone valley, big wheels of Savoy cheese and an olive oil bar from northern Provence. There were enough free samples to have made a lunch -- wine included.

Of course, there was Roquefort cheese from Roquefort, Camembert from Camembert, Armagnac from Armagnac, champagne from Champagne and liqueurs from everywhere, made from just about everything from plums to poppies. And that was just the beginning of the afternoon.

So Much to Learn

We learned how the famous local blue-green cave molds are naturally collected (using loaves of bread) to make Roquefort cheese.

We learned how mare's milk can be used in cosmetics products and soaps. Actually, it was a little more awkward than that: I blurted out -- in French -- in amazement: "Horses make milk?!" (Forgive me. I was born in Manhattan.) A woman exhibitor explained that, well, oui, the females do. My son, the sixth-grader, rolled his eyes and said, "Next time you have a question like that, Dad, ask me -- I knew that."

At one point, I remember being pulled by the flow of the crowd in the direction of bright colors and Caribbean music animating the exhibitions of France's West Indian territories. Caribbean bars were selling rum punch by the glass, and the thirsty were lined up three deep, clogging the aisles like a Club Med at happy hour.

Our next destination was the rabbits. We consulted our maps but somehow ended up wandering through a few thousand square feet of hunting gear (night vision goggles, anyone?) and camouflage. Then we watched part of a purebred dog show, which was in plain sight of an exhibit of cat breeds. The felines snoozed under a big banner that could have been viewed as a provocation: "Cats," it read, "the animal of the 21st century." Finally we found the rabbits, about 600 of them, all arranged by color and breed and fastidiously graded on 100-point scales.

We headed over to the hall of the big animals -- the slobbering pigs, those races of muscular French beef cows as big as rhinos, and varieties of sheep so fanciful they seemed to have stepped right out of illustrated fairy tales.

We had just enough time to find seats in the large exhibition ring for a show of the ranching and riding traditions of the Camargue in western Provence, featuring gardians (traditional cowboys), the Camargue's particular breed of small white horses and its black bulls. One of the highlights of the show involved the tradition of riders' grabbing whole oranges from lasses in folkloric dresses positioned around the arena and then tossing the oranges into the crowd. Citrus whizzed over our heads -- some splattering against the stands and spectators, making orange juice -- French fresh-squeezed orange juice, that is.

That evening, with the smell of barnyard lingering in our noses, we returned to the urban vibe of Saint-Germain and dined in a smart, if overpriced, bistro. I ordered veal T-bone, which, after a day on the farm, somehow seemed much more than just a steak.

The Salon International de l'Agriculture (International Agriculture Exhibition) runs March 3-11 at the Porte de Versailles (on Metro Line 12) in Paris. Adult admission is about $15.50. Hours are 9 a.m. to 7 p.m. Do as I suggest, not as we did: Arrive early and avoid weekend crowds. For more information and advance ticket sales: http://www.salon-agriculture.com.

Robert V. Camuto last wrote for Travel about wine auctions in Burgundy.