One of my first memories of a food market overseas was Barcelona market where I went for a badly judged kiwi juicy that made my mouth itch. And where my sister bit down hard on my elbow because she through it was the end of the baguette I was holding.
Or Brixton market where we would go when we would stay with my sister, the hustle and bustle, cows feet being at eye level, the live crabs ready to nip your nose, the Guinness cake and mango punch, the biggest avocados I'd every seen.
Buying a punnet of the juiciest peaches, easting them whilst walking down the highroad juice dripping down you chin, down your elbow for it to be whipped off quickly by my older sister before jumping on the 159. But my wrist would stick to the scratchy bus seat, and I would feel bad for the person getting on after me as they hadn't been able to enjoy the delicious fruit but be left to endure the sticky juice left by my 7 year old fingers on the bus.
And now I find myself Shrewsbury indoor market, where the fruit and veg traders have been there for years, selling beautiful fruit and veg, where it possible to take your time, buy exactly what you need, knowing your getting the very best, support local people. Where picking what you’re going to eat becomes more of a hobby and less of chore.