This market in the Place d'Aligre neighborhood of Paris included a butcher selling horsemeat.

Me either. But I understand it's often eaten in France and every time I get a menu on visits there, I scan it for "cheval".
Although I'm an adventurous eater, I don't know if I would eat horse even if I had the chance. Along with most other people in this country and in Britain I share a distaste for dining on this gentle giant.

Several cuts of horsemeat were displayed in  this butcher's case, including pricey filet.

 People were lined up to buy horse meat, displayed in a butcher's case at a Paris market I'm now writing about. It will be a story April 13 in Travel about my chance visit to a Paris neighborhood that seemed lost in time. I discovered the neighborhood early one Sunday morning when my overnight flight from  the U.S. had arrived in Paris hours before my hotel would permit check-in. The room I'd reserved still was occupied and I had a half dozen hours to kill before I could wash up and take a nap.
As I usually do, I'd done a Google Earth search before my trip to see what I'd find in the walking distance neighborhood of my hotel. I've discovered that a good brisk walk in the early morning sunshine clears away the cobwebs when you arrive someplace in the morning but it's still 2 a.m. at home. Not much goes on on Sundays in Paris but I'd discovered a farmers market, said to be one of the oldest in Paris, about five blocks from my hotel in the Gare de Lyon neighborhood on the city's east side.
It turned out to a wonderful experience, somewhat surreal to me, because it seemed to be a neighborhood straight from the 1950s when  Edith Piaf lived and sang on the streets of Paris.
I found an article in Time magazine that describes that taste of horse as somewhat sweet and tells about how horse is embraced by tghe French but viewed with disgust by Americans and Brits.
I would love to hear from anyone who has eaten horse and am linking here to my email since comments on my blog don't seem to take.