The City of Light was kind enough to stage the Spring 2012 edition of the “Salon Saveurs” food fair at the convention hall at  Porte de Champerret … beginning on June 1.

Which was today. And we were there shortly after noon, having walked the half-mile from where we are staying, in the 17th arrondissement.

I wrote about the bigger, pre-Christmas food fair way back in December. Seems like ages ago that strangers from France’s farm country were keen to give us free samples.

This fair had “only” 147 exhibitors, by my count. But that was more than enough to feel your cholesterol count rising as vendors insisted on plying us with cheese, ham and sausage samples … calling me out even when I avoided eye contact with the people behind the counters. Because, you know, I felt like I had eaten about 25 grams of fat in the first 15 minutes.

But it was some really great fat.

I also could have been fairly seriously tipsy, 15 minutes in, if I hadn’t made a conscious effort to avoid tasting wine and champagne at every vendor of said liquids. I had only a few sips here and there … and actually returned a flute with at least a couple of swallows of  champagne still in it. Yeah. Madness. (Leah took care of that).

What did we actually buy? A full pound of a epically good aged Swiss mystery cheese. The fast-talking kid, who probably could sell heaters to Emiratis in July, told us, en francais, what it was called, and said it was similar to aged Gruyere … but wasn’t quite. We bought a bit of it … OK, a “bit” about the size of a brick. It was good, but a pound of it? That Swiss kid was a heck of a salesman.

We avoided the Normandy oyster guys, or one of us did (the other is not all that interested), probably because June is a month without an “r” in it and, in theory, oysters should not be eaten — though a fair number of Parisians were slurping up the slimy creatures, out of season, at picnic tables set up at the north end of the hall.

We saw the chocolatiers, and the jelly people and the nut people, and the foie gras people, and the salmon guys, and the spices-in-bulk lady, and about 25 guys selling wheels of cheese big enough to hold up a 747. And, of course, the woman who sells aligot — the nearly irresistible mix of mashed potatoes and melted cheese.

We managed to avoid most of that. When we exited, after 90 minutes or so, we had two bottles of Pineau de Charentes, a bottle of champagne, two tins of olive oil, a dozen-plus sausage sticks — and the brick of possibly Gruyere. About all we lacked was French butter. I don’t get the whole “French butter is better” thing … but the butter guys had not made the trip to Paris. So.

Have to pace yourself, really, when you’re going to the Paris food fair just before you leave. The last time, way back in December, we did it in the middle of our trip.

We bought one last baguette on the walk back, ignored the brocante on the street outside the apartment, had some lunch, printed out boarding passes, and did some cleaning.

I took one more semi-fast walk around the Pereire public tennis courts just as the sun was setting, and Leah bought a glass of wine at the strange little cafe next to Court 1, and had some fries.

As I circled the long block, at the pace of once every five minutes, I could see the local teens mobilizing for a night of socializing, gathering in wide spots on the street. I made a few more passes past the homeless guy, who was drinking out of a wine bottle while sitting next to the “bed” he has made out of a box that perhaps once held a refrigerator.

We bought a couple of canteloupes from a street vendor, and one of those was my dinner. We saw the sun go down, and saw the Eiffel Tower flickering a few more times, and we steeled ourselves to leave Paris in the morning.

Maybe it was the mild weather, or the familiar surroundings of a great apartment (below, the view from the balcony), or particularly nice times with old friends and former co-workers … but it seemed a Paris vacation of a higher order. I noticed I was already wistful … and I wasn’t even gone yet.