The pleasure of going to Central Market in downtown Lancaster, Pennsylvania is almost as great for me as the displeasure of going to Safeway or Giant (note: this definitely qualifies as a grocery store discussion, which, in other instances, I abhor). Although, I'm not going to lie, I definitely bought some kiwis from New Zealand, much of the food at the market is locally produced. And the people who sell it are some of the same ones who I've seen selling it there since we started going to market there when I was 10 or 12. I remembered, for instance, up seeing the man again, the 15-minute lecture he had given me on the benefits of mangoes for digestion upon selling me a mango some years ago (or was it about papayas?). And can you imagine how upset I was to discover today that Michael's bread is closing down its stall in the market tomorrow? This is upsetting on several levels: A) I despise change; B) It is a result of Michael's downsizing from a few of its locations, which means that the man who sells the Michael's day-old cinnamon raisin bread we always buy is not actually Michael (I had always assumed that this was Michael's only store).
Market also reminds us of our particular cultural traditions: my dad brought scrapple today and it was sold right next to the pickled tripe and tongue souse, which reminds me of visiting my great-grandmother when I was a young girl and noticing a cow's tongue boiling in a little water on her stove.
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