Friday, September 26, 2003
I love buying vegetables at markets.
There, they come in all shapes and sizes, not moulded to some directive dictating lenght and colour. There, they still smell of the ground and the earth and the air. There, they are proper vegetables.
I love the entire ritual of it all; going to the market, browsing the stalls, checking the groceries - do they look fresh, are they cheap? There are some great bargains to be had, a scoopful of oranges and another full of onion, for only a pound or less each. Even when it is not cheaper, it is still somehow worth it, to get vegetables that has actually experienced rain and soil and cow-dung. Then carry the groceries home, in anonymous blue plastic bags that by now have become synonymous with shopping at markets and therefore almost fashion statements for the food-conscious. 'I shop at markets, me (it says), I'm concerned with the health of my body and the world.'
At home I put my fruits and vegetables into a cupboard and the fridge, in which they smell wonderful for many days still to come. Fruit and vegetables bought in the supermarket, while not at all bad, are often strangely shiny and sterile, but these ones, bought in the market, have lumps and bumps and seems so alive that it is almost a shame to cut them up and eat them. With these vegetables a continual growth can be felt, a history, a development that I try to honour the only way I know how to - by cooking them into a wonderful, tasty dish, to be cherished and lingered over for hours.
The best market in London is Borough Market, closely followed by all the smaller farmer's markets that pop up locally at various times of the week.
There, they come in all shapes and sizes, not moulded to some directive dictating lenght and colour. There, they still smell of the ground and the earth and the air. There, they are proper vegetables.
I love the entire ritual of it all; going to the market, browsing the stalls, checking the groceries - do they look fresh, are they cheap? There are some great bargains to be had, a scoopful of oranges and another full of onion, for only a pound or less each. Even when it is not cheaper, it is still somehow worth it, to get vegetables that has actually experienced rain and soil and cow-dung. Then carry the groceries home, in anonymous blue plastic bags that by now have become synonymous with shopping at markets and therefore almost fashion statements for the food-conscious. 'I shop at markets, me (it says), I'm concerned with the health of my body and the world.'
At home I put my fruits and vegetables into a cupboard and the fridge, in which they smell wonderful for many days still to come. Fruit and vegetables bought in the supermarket, while not at all bad, are often strangely shiny and sterile, but these ones, bought in the market, have lumps and bumps and seems so alive that it is almost a shame to cut them up and eat them. With these vegetables a continual growth can be felt, a history, a development that I try to honour the only way I know how to - by cooking them into a wonderful, tasty dish, to be cherished and lingered over for hours.
The best market in London is Borough Market, closely followed by all the smaller farmer's markets that pop up locally at various times of the week.
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