One of the simple pleasures of my weekends is heading down to the local produce markets. I started out dawdling down there at 9am with my french market bag in hand, surveying the produce, having a chat to the stallholders and picking up an organic coffee to get me through the early start. A couple of years on I have become a market devotee. No longer is my market bag sufficient. These days I'm armed with my trolly and head straight for a super-duper, gluten free, antioxidant charged organic green juice (with a side of Pete Evans activated almonds) and as tragic as it is, I've even rescheduled Friday night dates so I'm fresh at 6am for the markets.
I love people watching there, seeing young kids smelling the produce and learning how mung beans grow. There's an abundance of food to sample and most of all I love the community feel and friendly service, which is missing in our supermarkets and big grocery stores. I never realised how a conversation with someone about 'bath milk' could one day turn into a friendship. The relationships formed at the markets are based on a healthy lifestyle and a community that care about good quality food and a respect for what they are putting into their bodies. That's not to say I don't see any blood shot eyes heading over for their organic coffees first thing.
Stall holders take pride in their homemade jams, chutneys and dukkahs. They display their stands with country charm, chalkboard signs, funky crates and baskets holding their wares or piling up fresh fruit and veggies in apple tubs. Even fresh flowers are displayed on mass, spilling out of timber tubs, ready for you to grab a bunch to take home. Yes, I seem to love everything about it...especially now I have my granny trolly. It's amazing how my eyes are so much bigger than my belly.