To Market to Market

Our two major supermarkets are liquifactioned (new word?) and seriously injured, respectively.
Hence, the foodies of the Port Hills - determined not to suffer a food-less fate - have improvised.
We now have our very own Farmers Market.

A piece of paradise has popped up in Mt Pleasant - aiming to please the palette every Saturday morning.
We now don't have to go all the way to Lyttelton Market through the tunnel or across town to Deans Bush Market anymore.

It was not Francais fancy at the waterside Community Hall. Piles of that gritty gray grunge, bricks and rubble greeted me - as did the wafting air from the poo-infused estuary. The bright sunflowers for sale, however, were so inticing. Why I didn't grab a bunch I do not know. Being a hopeless romantic, buying  flowers for yoursef seemed a little sad...or a little too desperate housewife.

As food lovers, many Kiwis love to go on expensive holidays to charming Mediterranean villages especially to see and breath the sights and smells of a local market. And here it was. Sigh, just down the road.

Okay, the Barry's Bay cheese didn't waft hedonistically like feral Swiss camembert. The fish was neatly bagged, instead of bug-eyed and offered by a man with a grinning Greek walrus-mustache. But it was NOT from the supermarket. And we can't afford Santorini this year.

The organic vegetables, FRESH and not over-priced, came courtesy of a supplier in North Canterbury. There were organic meats, cheeses, breads, spreads...and arrghhh...wait for it...QUAKE T-SHIRTS. Yes, you can actually buy a t-shirt at our wee market saying MUNTED: adjective for the severe damage caused by the Christchurch Earthquake. They come in Red or black.
It was even worse than my memory of the stall selling pokey plastic Leaning Tower of Pisas outside the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
And we sooo love to trash those tacky European tourist traps, don't we?

Off to poach my spray-free rhubarb,
Word Bird XX