Waiting for their chance to star in a "spicy bullfrog hotpot" at my local market in Changsha.
One of my favorite things to do in a new city is to check out the grocery store or outdoor market — wherever the locals shop. I’m not interested in the touristified market packed with overpriced “delicacies.” In Bergen, Norway, the fish market now sells (admittedly delicious) smoked salmon for roughly four times the price at a local shop. For my money, I’d rather go to the local ICA and admire the countless varieties of fish products in tubes.
Over at Serious Eats, Erin Zimmer captures the allure of vacation grocery shopping in her post on the Modiano Market in Thessaloniki, Greece:
I feel like travelers can be lumped into two categories: those who get a high from scouting out the local market, whether an average grocery chain or indoor hall with various stalls, and those who don’t really care. Some of my strongest associations with cities are the markets—Eastern Market in Washington, the Delvita chain in the Czech Republic, and the English Market in Cork, Ireland. It’s like a breathing museum with interesting characters, local produce, and, the always fascinating, foreign brands and packaging.
My favorite market memory comes from a trip to Budapest in March 2006. I went with two of my best friends from college, armed with guidebooks but nary a word of Hungarian. At the Central Market (which has its share of tourist souvenirs, to be sure), we were able to point our way to a delicious picnic of rolls, fruit, peppery sausage and a pastry or two. We ate it on a bench facing the Danube, wrapped up in coats, scarves and hats to keep out the still-wintry air. The best part? Washing it down with a liter of cherry juice swigged straight from the container.
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