Bonjour, pourriez-vous me traduire ce texte s'il vous plaît ?

On holidays in France, we went to the markets that still thrive in small towns.

We'd be amazed at how much more successful the French were at hanging on to their culinary culture - at their pride in local produce and at the time they were shopkeepers still say " bon appetit " !
as they close at noon for three hours and go home for long lunches.

How many women must be chained to the kitchen sink preparing them, I always remenbered to say as we flew home.

For all the sophistication of food production in the UK, a sense of loss lingered.

The ritual that surrounds cooking and eating in countries where food cannot be taken for granted is often glaringly absent where it is available in excess.

In our rush to remove the labour from feeding ourselves, we have lost the cultural significance of meals.

Occasionally as I gobbled a sandwich at my desk,
wolfed fast foot on the run or threw together a meal of pre-cut chicken and ready chopped vegetables, I remembered the simple meals from communal bowls set on a Baluch carpet in a refugee's mud house, where the business of eating was serious.
It wasn't just about fuel, it was the focus of human interaction.

Sitting together over food was where adults exchanged news and views, where children learned to communicate. To eat alone was to be, sad, uncivilised.